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/ TTHIS NUMBER CONTAINS 

THE TRODBLESOME LADT. 

^ By PATIENCE STAPLETON, 


Author of “ Kady,” “Trailing Yew,” “My Sister’s Husband,” etc. 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 
■jippTilcon's, CONTENTS No. W. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY, (illustrated; . 

Patience Stapleton 



1-65 

Fanny Kemble at Lenox 

C. B. Todd . 



66 

On the Way. (Illustrated) 

Julian Hawthorne 



70 

Keats and Fanny B . (Poem) .... 

Clifford Lanier 



77 

An Old-Fashioned View of Fiction 

Maurice Francis E^an . 



78 

Chicago Architecture. (Illustrated) . ... 

Barr Ferree . 



80 

Released. (Poem) 

The Reprieve of Capitalist Clyve. (Illustrated) 

Mary Isabella Forsyth . 



94 

(Lippincott’s Notable Stories. — No. V.) . 

Owen Wister. 



95 

Rose-Leaves. (Poem) 

Flavel Scott Mines 



102 

What the United States owes to Italy 

Giovanni P. Morosini . 



103 

“The New Poetry” and Mr. W. E. Henley . 

Gilbert Parker 



109 

A Wild Night on the Amazon .... 

Morgan S. Edmunds 



117 

My Castle. (Poem) 

Lloyd Mifflin , 



120 

Point vs. Truth 

Robert Timsol 



121 

Truth vs. Point 

Frederic M. Bird . 



123 

Certain Points of Style in Writing 

Edgar Fawcett 



125 

Men of the Day 




127 


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PARIS: BRENTANO’S, 17 AVENUE DE L’OPERA. 

Copyright, 1893, by J. B. Lippincott Company. Entered at Philadelphia Post-Office as second-class matter. 


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THE 


TROUBLESOME LADY. 



PATIENCE STAPLETON, 

'I 

AUTHOR OF “KADY,” “TRAILING YEW,” “MY SISTER’S HUSBAND,” 
ETC. 




PHILADELPHIA : 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 



Copyright, 1893, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


[ The right of dramatization ia reserved.] 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Phiiaoelphia, U.S.A. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 








]\/[ONTHLY Jy^AGAZINE. 


JULY, 18 93. 



T he steady rain of the fall afternoon had obliterated the 
mountains and sunk the trail, at best narrow and danger- 
ous, into the bed of an erratic brook. Down this Craig 
Oliver’s fine mare slipped hopelessly, while his shepherd 
dog, a mass of disconsolate wetness, trotted sullenly be- 
hind, his nose close to the horse’s heels. Oliver’s cor- 
duroys were soaking, from his sombrero a stream of water dripped 
down his back, and the damp carcass of a defunct antelope swung to 
his saddle became painfully odoriferous. That very antelope had lured 
him to the top of Sisty’s Peak and had taken revenge for the fine shot 
which had brought its demise. 

Craig, naturally hot-tempered and impatient, swore audibly. He 
wondered why a man should want to go hunting in the Rockies ; why, 


4 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


if he did, he could not tell when it was going to rain, — or did anybody 
ever know Colorado weather ? why, if a man knew enough to go to the 
top of a peak, he could not find his way down. He had no idea where 
he was, and night was near at hand : under the aspens that slapped 
him merrily with wet branches as he passed, it was already dark. 

He wondered where Doctor John was. That ass would make a jest 
of the matter : he was olfensively personal in his jokes. He would 
not think of going to look for a comrade, — not he, the laziest man in 
the world. Why, then, should Craig Oliver take meat to Doctor 
John, antelope steak he so favored, brought from the summit of a 
cloud-reaching peak? Yet that invidious doubt of Doctor John’s ! 
there must be evidence, or he would tell the story of an imaginary 
antelope and imaginary shot. 

It grew darker, — if possible, wetter. The sodden antelope flounced 
about, and the dog whined dolefully. 

“ Confound you, Mac,” cried Oliver, “ if you are bored, what must 
I be? Do you think I’m doing this for pleasure? Besides, you can 
shake the rain off* your coat, and it soaks into mine. If I stay outside 
to-night it means rheumatism, sure. I’ll bet the doctor is huddling 
over the fire now with that infernal pipe of his, and Mike is cleaning 
his boots, — the doctor’s boots. I pay Mike, but he cleans the doctor’s 
boots first, last, and all the time. Some men have a faculty of 
imposition.” 

The more uncomfortable Oliver became, the more he thought of his 
guest snugly ensconced in his hunting-cabin miles away on the Trouble- 
some, — an untrustworthy little stream that meandered through the 
mountain park, irrigating the crops bountifully in the spring, but often 
annihilating them in midsummer. 

“ He’s toasting his thin shanks at my hearth, smoking my tobacco, 
ordering my servant about, and he would leave me out here to perish. 
He knew it was going to rain : that is why he said he had the tooth- 
ache. I swear he hasn’t one of his own left. I believe it is gout ails 
him. And Mike hasn’t sense enough to go out with a light. Ha ! 
there’s one !” 

The trees more widely scattered showed him a sudden glimmer of 
light across the murk below, like a fallen star. He urged the mare 
forward down a steep hill, and found from her quickened pace he was 
on a travelled road. Then she shied and stopped, and he was close to 
a shut gate. He dismounted, opened it, and, mindful of cattle, closed 
it after him. After a short walk he saw the dark outlines of buildings, 
a house with corrals and barns : from the last came the savage barking 
of dogs and the clank of their stretching chains as they leaned from 
their kennels. Mac, in duty bound, set up a challenging uproar, 
silenced only by his master’s whip. From the lighted windows Craig 
saw the house proper was built of logs and raised considerably from the 
ground, with a wide veranda approached by a long flight of steps. A 
door in the L that was on a level with the ground suddenly opened, 
and a man came out with a lantern, — an under-sized man, with a white 
face, deep-sunken black eyes, and a scrubby beard around his chin of 
such a blue-black color his face looked deadly pale. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


5 


“ What a State’s-prison raug !” Craig thought ; but he said, politely, 
“ I have lost my way.” 

“ Well, this is not it,” said the man, holding his lantern rudely 
near Oliver’s face. 

“ I do not need your assurance of that, my civil friend ; but if I 
insulted you with a bribe could you put up my horse and give me 
shelter for the night?” 

“ No.” 

“ Western hospitality is evidently out of your line. I fancy New 
York or the adjacent islands are more to your taste than a ranch in the 
mountains. Perhaps you could direct me to Lord Morris’s shooting- 
box : it’s on the Troublesome, about five miles from Parkville. I am 
a stranger here, as I only bought the lodge this spring.” 

“ I don’t know where it is.” 

“Ah ! a stranger too. You own this place?” 

“ I don’t see that that is your atfair.” 

might make it mine, if the odds were not so against me,” 
Oliver muttered, turning, and tightening his saddle-girths. A door in 
the house suddenly opened, and in the flood of light streaming out 
Oliver saw a slight girlish figure peering into the darkness. 

“What is it, Louis? Not Monsieur de Restaud? Is — is he 

hurt ?” 

“ Only a tramp. Go back into the house,” called the man, 
rudely. 

A fat little woman in a cap ran out, seized the girl’s arm, and tried 
to drag her in the door ; but the young woman defended her rights 
vigorously, and, freeing herself, ran down the steps. 

“ I have entered a romance,” thought Craig, advancing to the steps. 
“ After travelling in extremely beaten paths for forty years, I have 
suddenly achieved an adventure.” “I have lost my way,” he said, 
lifting his hat. “ I am not a tramp at all, but a neighbor, — even 
a landed proprietor. I did hope for shelter, but I will only ask a 
direction ” 

“ But I don’t know any directions, sir, and I wouldn’t trust Louis’s : 
he’d like to get any one into trouble. I am thankfully ignorant of this 
horrid country : I want to be : I hate it. But you must come in and- 
get dry and have your horse rubbed down. What a lovely dog !” 

The fat woman, who had descended the steps unobserved, here 
interposed an objection, clutching the girl’s arm tightly, and talking 
hastily in whispered French that sounded like a prolonged hiss, so 
great was her agitation. 

“Hush up, hag!” said the singular young woman, again freeing 
herself. “And now do come in for a little while.” 

She was bareheaded, and wore some kind of a sleazy gown. As the 
rain was speedily wetting her shoulders, Oliver was forced to go up 
under the roof of the veranda. 

“ You needn’t be shocked,” she went on, merrily, “ at what I said 
to her : she does not know a word of English, and she’s gone and won’t 
come any more. Half the fun I have is calling her names and saying 
things to her she would so like to know. — Louis, take the gentleman’s 


6 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 



he has. Do come in, just a 
little while : we’re not robbers or 
Benders, though things are funny. 
Bring your lovely dog. Will he 
fight a little mite of one?” 

“ If he did I’d disown him,” smiled Craig. 
She stooped and picked up a flulfy Skye ter- 
rier, and, holding it in her arms, led the way into a luxuriously-fur- 
nished room with piano and fine pictures, a bright open fire, and evidences 
of travel and culture in bric-a-brac. It was strangely at variance with 
the wild and lonely country outside, but oddly natural in Colorado. 


horse and give her good care. None of your tricks, for Monsieur 
might this once like to be friendly : you never can tell : he and Lord 
Morris were. Monsieur can be agreeable, quite lovely, to strangers, if 
he wants to be.” 

The man, grumbling to himself, led the mare to the barn. 

“ I don’t fancy leaving her to his mercies,” said Oliver, uneasily, 

as he watched man and horse 
from the porch. “Somehow I 
have not overmuch confidence in 
your servant.” 

“ Isn’t he evil-looking? An- 
nette, though, thinks he is beau- 
tiful. But Louis will be good to 
your horse : he is fond of them, 
and a thoroughbred, too, like that 
one, will delight him. His liking 
for horses is the only human trait 



THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


7 


In the Rockies the unexpected is always happening : a day-laborer is 
often a college graduate waiting for a stake, or a cowboy may be the son 
of an earl acquiring experience. 

“ If we tried to snare travellers,” said the young lady, coolly, 
“ Louis would rather hurt our business, his manners are so bad. This 
is the den of Monsieur de Restaud, who came here to avoid the war 
with Prussia : he was only a young lad then, but a born coward ; and 
his brother is a colonel in the French army, his father a general. He 
daren’t go back to France. Sit down. Here’s a chair for your coat ; 
you will feel better dry. I’ll excuse your shirt-sleeves.” 

Talking all the while, she set a chair for his coat, one for himself 
near the hearth, and then, kneeling down by the big dog, she put the 
little one on the floor and proceeded to make them acquainted. Skye 
instantly became a flutf of growl and fight; but Mac, with an ennuy^ed 
sigh, stretched himself and lay down to rest. He realized he was 
intruding, but meant to make the best of it in peace. She jumped up, 
the dog under her arm, and flung a log on the fire. 

“There, are you comfortable?” she asked, standing and smiling on 
him, a lovely flush on her face. 

“ Delightfully so.” 

Oliver looked at her in wonder. Was she child or woman ? A 
slight, girlish figure, but beautifully formed, tiny hands and feet, a 
mass of short reddish curls around her neck, parted smoothly in the 
middle, hazel eyes with dark lashes, a nose retrouss^, piquantly so, and 
a rose-bud mouth that showed small white teeth of dazzling brilliancy. 
Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, and a dimple in the left cheek 
drew attention to its soft round ness. Her gown of yellow China silk 
clung to her beautiful curves, and the wide ruffle of the yellow around 
her throat was like the petals of a flower. He looked at her left hand : 
there was no ring ; in fact, all the jewelry she wore was a bunch of 
silver bangles on her right arm. 

“ Do you live here ?” he asked, lamely, as she knelt again on the 
rug to pat his dog, Skye in her arms. 

Instead of replying, she made her dog sit up on its hind legs and 
beg, — an accomplishment Skye disliked showing, as he desired to get 
acquainted with the new dog, and this circus business seemed derogatory 
to his dignity. 

“See!” said the young woman, breathlessly ; “isn’t he cunning? 
But he does it much better when there is not company : he never will 
show off. Can your dog give his paw ?” 

“ I don’t think I ever asked him,” stammered Oliver, who was 
thinking what a pretty picture the girl made. 

“ Well, he is too tired to tease now. Oh,” jumping up and stand- 
ing by the fire, “ you asked who I was.” 

“ No : if you lived here.” 

“ Do you think,” half sadly, “ a person could live here ?” 

“ I — I don’t know.” 

“ I do,” said the young woman, emphatically. “ I have tried it two 
years and winters, all the long shut-in months. I eat, sleep, breathe, 
but I don’t live. I am called Minny, — christened Minerva, after my 


8 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


father’s ship, — a funny name, that does not suit me. Children ought 
to be allowed to name themselves : don’t you think so?” 

“ It might be better, but Minny is a pretty name, and,” with a 
smiling glance of admiration, for Oliver liked a pretty woman, “suits 
delightfully. I was named Peter, — think of that ! — but luckily had a 
middle name. Allow me to introduce myself : Craig Oliver, of Denver, 
and your neighbor in the valley of the Troublesome.” 

“ I am” — she hesitated a moment and looked at him defiantly — 
“ Mrs. de Restaud. I knew you’d have to know. I put it off on pur- 
pose. Now please don’t look at me out of the corner of your eye and 
wonder I am not more dignified and stop being pleasant to me because 
I am married.” 

“ I don’t see,” said Oliver, unconsciously becoming more distant, 
“ that your being married makes any difference.” 

“ I am glad ; for up here they daren’t talk politely to me because 
of Monsieur : in fact, for weeks I only have Skye to talk to. I know 
I run on foolishly ; but I am like an exile meeting a neighbor from 
the home country. No gentlemen come here: LorA Morris was not; 
he might have been once, but liquor changes everybody. Since Aunt 
Hannah was sent away, six months ago, there has not been a living 
soul here I even endured. By the way,” smiling again, “are you 
hungry ?” 

“ I breakfasted this morning,” answered Oliver. 

“ Well, I’ll get you something to eat. Please let me : it’s such 
fun to have a visitor. And don’t you mind if you hear growls from 
the kitchen.” 

She ran out before Oliver could object : so he sat and watched his 
steaming coat, wondering if the proprietor would shoot on sight. He 
remembered now seeing the “ crazy Frenchman,” as he was called in the 
valley, a small, wizened creature, looking as if he took morphine, from 
his strange color and the unnatural brightness of his eyes. The 
pity of it ! the girl — a child, almost — was his wife. “ This is odd,” he 
thought, “an adventure, and Doctor John will never believe a word 
of it.” Unfortunately, Mrs. de Restaud had left the door ajar, and 
Oliver became painfully aware of her conversation : 

“ Annette dear, — how I wish the Utes would carry you off! how 
tired they’d be, though, of their bargain ! — let me get that tea. Don’t 
you touch me. Witch ! they’d hung you in Salem days. I am getting 
this for the stranger who looks like a hero out of a book, — a big, 
broad-shouldered man ; not a little, evil thing, like your dear Monsieur 
or your own pet Louis with his Sing Sing manners. Such a charming 
stranger, with the kindest smile, and eyes that smile too, and a gentle- 
man like I used to know before I was shut up here. Cat, let the 
waiter alone 1 I hate your Monsieur ! his own father called him a 
coward. Oh, wait, my love, until I practise shooting : some day I 
will put a little round bullet-hole in your lovely cap-frill.” 

A crash of crockery, the slam of a door, and Mrs. de Restaud 
came back, flushed and triumphant, with a loaded waiter and a con- 
quering air. 

“ Cold ham, fresh bread, and tea,” she said, setting it on the table. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


9 


“ It is better than nothing. I have been on a foraging expedition and 
outgeneralled the enemy. Now do eat. Perhaps you ought to have 
whiskey ; but Monsieur has the keys.” 

“ I have a flask,” smiled Oliver, “ but this tea is much better.” 

“ I think so. And are things nice, truly ?” 

“ The very best, and how good you can imagine to a man who has 
fasted since seven this morning. You see, I was bound to have that 
antelope : I was on his trail the whole day.” 

“ It seems cruel to kill the poor little things,” she said, wistfully, 
“ they have such a hard time in the winter, and the elk are so starved 
then they come down to the corral to eat hay with the cattle. I would 
like to put hay out for them, but I am not allowed; and, just think, 
my money has bought this ranch : it was mortgaged for all it was 
worth, — Monsieur spent everything, you know ; but you don't know, 
and think I am dreadful.” She ran to the window and looked out. 
“You would not mind,” she said, anxiously, “ hurrying a little? Mon- 
sieur ought to be back any moment. If he and his friends have been 
drinking very much, they are ugly, — especially Monsieur. Oh, I did 
not mean you should stop.” 

“ I am through,” said Oliver, uneasily. “ It was very nice indeed ; 
but I am afraid I have made you trouble, will do you harm by being 
here. You must know where Morris’s place is.” 

“ Down the road here somewhere, but I don’t know just where. I 
never was there : it was not a fit place. Don’t you think,” she went 
on, feeding his dog scraps from the waiter while she spoke, “ that it is 
funny of me to talk of my husband to strangers?” 

“ I don’t want to be a stranger,” said Oliver, gently, “ and you 
know one could not live here without hearing something of — of ” 

“ The crazy Frenchman.” 

Oliver put on his coat in silence. The big shepherd dog leaned his 
beautiful head against the girl’s knee while she fed him, and little 
Skye, quite content with a stray bite now and then, looked on in 
approval. Oliver thought he would like to take her in his arms, as if 
she were the child she lookecl. That pretty little yellow gown, the 
bright girl’s face, with its saddened look, touched him sorely. He was 
not wont to be interested much in women ; those he met were of two 
classes, and this child was of neither class, — a different being, — a 
. pathetic, haunting one; a child in years, and yet two years a wife, and 
of such a man. She glanced up and saw his grave face. Her lips 
quivered. 

“ Don’t think me dreadful,” she said, piteously. “ I am so lonely, 
so forsaken, and you brought back the old days. You look so kind, 
the words just came : I eould not help it. • Suppose you were me shut 
up here, my father lost at sea, my mother dead two years ago, and my 
only friend, my only relation, saying it was my duty” (a sob) “to live 
here for ever and ever. I wish that you would try to like me, and 
that I could feel there was somewhere in the world a good man who 
would be a friend to me and pity me.” 

He took her little hand in his big one and looked down on her 
sunny head. 


10 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ You are like a little child,” he said, softly. “ I know your life 
must be hard ; I cannot bear to think of it. I shall be proud and 
happy to be your friend : I haven’t many. When one has lived long 
in the world he has sorted the wheat from the chaff ; and I can count 
my friends on my fingers, — on one hand, indeed.” 

“ Then let me be the little finger,” she said, shyly. 

The sound of horses’ hoofs outside made her withdraw her hand 
suddenly, and a frightened look came over her face. Oliver picked up 
his riding-whip, bit his lower lip, and waited. Mac, with a growl, slunk 
up to his master’s heels. The door was flung rudely open, and a man 
stepped in the room, so overcome with anger he could at first form no 
word, — a little man, with a dark evil face, sunken eyes, and long black 
beard. His corduroy suit was dripping, and the hat he flung on the 
table soaking wet. He had the air of one who has ridden fast in an 
evil mood. 

“Are you keeping a hotel, Madame de Restaud?” he hissed. 
“ Truly this is a very pleasant surprise for a man.” 

“The gentleman asked shelter, Henri,” the girl said, trembling. 
“ He lost his way, and Louis would not tell him how to find Lord 
Morris’s place.” 

“ You can of course give me the direction,” Oliver said, courteously, 
though his hand clinched the whip-handle tighter. “Lord Morris 
told me of your hunting-exploits. I thought we should have met 
before this ; but Doctor John and I are unsociable sort of men and 
don’t go about much.” 

“ The road you came, straight down two miles, turn to the left,” 
said De Restaud, coldly. “ My man has your mare ready.” 

“ Thanks. — Mrs. de Restaud, you have shown true Western hos- 
pitality. I shall always remember it. Good-night.” 

He could not look at that shrinking figure, with its frightened 
eyes. 

“ Good-by,” she said, sadly. “ I hope you will find your road.” 

As he closed the door he heard her give a cry of pain, as if she 
had been rudely seized, and he almost stopped, then went hastily down 
the steps. He wished one of the ruffians dismounting before the porch 
would speak to him : he would have liked to silence him. No one 
spoke, however. Even Louis led the mare up in silence. Oliver 
looked her over as he mounted, tossed the man a dollar, and said, as 
he cantered off, — 

“I trust you and I will meet again, my civil friend.” 

The gate was open, so he went easily past all pitfalls, and, the mare 
being rested, in a short time he saw the light from his own cabin, and 
with an odd sense of comfort, too. A lost, homeless man is a pitiful 
object the world over. Mike rushed out to take the mare ; he was 
just going to look for him ; the doctor had worried. But Oliver, 
without a word, went into the house. He went to his cigar-box, lit a 
cigar, then stood before his own hearth with a queer air of possession. 
It was just as he thought. There sat Doctor John in that ridiculous 
flowered dressing-gown and embroidered cap, with his eternal pipe, as 
unconcerned as possible. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


11 


“Back at last, old man?” said Doctor John, cheerily. “We were 
getting worried about you.” 

“ Thanks,” growled Oliver. 

“We waited supper,” continued the other, a little, elderly man, 
with bright blue eyes, close-cut gray hair, and long gray beard. “ Mike 
was bound to go for you.” 

“ And you to prevent him,” sneered Oliver. 

“Well, I did think it nonsense. Where could he look? Let’s 
eat.” 

“ I am not hungry. I had supper.” 

“Where?” 

“ At a house,” Oliver answered, briefly, as Mike entered with the 
supper-things. However, he sat down, and found himself eating 
heartily. 

Neither man spoke. Doctor John being used to Oliver’s moods. 
The meal over, they sat before the fire. Oliver took a cigar, while 
Doctor John lit his pipe. 

“I was at the summit of Sisty’s Peak to-day,” said Oliver, after a‘ 
long silence. 

“ Ah ?” interrogatively from Doctor John. 

“ I followed an antelope, — a splendid shot, the best I’ve had ; a 
big buck.” 

“ Too bad you did not bring it. We’re out of meat.” 

“ But I did. I know you.” Oliver smiled. “ The evidence is on 
my saddle.” 

“ There’s a butcher-shop at Parkville,” said Doctor John, medita- 
tively. 

“Is there?” said Oliver, indifferently. “I was not that way. I 
had supper at De Restaud’s.” 

“The crazy Frenchman’s? Honestly, Craig?” 

“ I give you my word. His wife is a sweet little woman.” 

“ They all are to you, my boy. Your weakness. You don’t say ! 
— at De Restaud’s !” Doctor John smoked awhile over it ; “ actually^ 
got in his house! Why, they say he is the very devil. You were 
lucky you didn’t lose your life instead of your way.” 

Craig looked into the fire. He thought of the little girl in the 
yellow gown. How plainly he remembered even the bangles, the Skye 
terrier, the dimple in her cheek ! perhaps he had lost his heart. 


II. 

Though fifty miles from a railroad, the valley of the Troublesome 
was well settled by ranchmen, and the little village of Parkville, a 
few miles from Oliver’s cabin, was the meeting-place for a large section 
of country. Here gathered miners from the distant peaks, prospectors, 
cowboys and sheep-herders from ranches, with the drift around such 
a place, gamblers and men with no visible means of support. In the 
rough mob that congregated in the two saloons at Parkville Oliver 
often saw the Frenchman. He was generally intoxicated, always the 


12 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


wildest of the merrymakers. He met him and Louis riding late at 
night at a mad pace with other vagabonds invited from the town, aud 
he heard of orgies at De Restaud’s home that reeked of city slums. 
Oliver himself never ventured towards De Restaud's house ; the road 
was a private one, and he had no wish to come in contact with the 
owner. Sometimes he pitied the young wife when he thought of her, 
but as the days wore on her image faded. He had never mentioned 
her but the once to Doctor John, yet he hoped before he went away 
from the Troublesome to see her again. He had promised to be her 
friend. 

Mike had told him the story in the valley was that she had come 
to Colorado Springs with a consumptive mother, and that the French- 
man, who was more careful then, and boarded at the hotel with them, 
wormed himself into the mother’s confidence to such an extent that on 
her death-bed she desired to leave her daughter in De Restaud’s care 
and prevailed upon her to be married then. A sentimental little 
creature like the girl could not refuse ; Oliver had an uncomfortable 
■feeling that she would be too easily led. De Restaud had brought his 
wife to the lonely ranch after her mother’s death, and had kept her a 
prisoner. He was madly jealous of her, his crazed brain imagining 
all sorts of things she never dreamed of doing. Then it was also 
thought that, as he had entire control of her money, he kept her away 
from her friends for fear they might question his guardianship. 

Oliver was thinking of her one night two weeks after his strange 
visit. He was alone by the fire, for Doctor John had gone to see the 
sick wife of a ranchman: the doctor said he felt the errand hopeless, 
as the man had told his wife’s condition, but if they thought he might 
help he would go. 

“ He is a good old chap,” Oliver said, aloud. The shepherd dog, 
thinking the compliment intended for him, gently thumped his tail on 
the floor. “ There’s his gown and cap : he’ll make a guy of himself 
because his old landlady made them for him. I wish I had told him 
.more about the girl at that ranch ; he might have suggested something. 
Perhaps she can’t get letters to her old aunt. If half the stories I 
hear are true, she ought never to stay there. The man is crazy.” 

Mac whined uneasily, and went to the door, standing listening, his 
head down. 

“ Watching for the doctor, Mac? He won’t be back for hours yet. 
Hark !” 

The dog growled, then barked loudly. There was the sound of 
hurrying footsteps on the hard ground, and the door was opened with- 
out ceremony. In her yellow gown, bareheaded and dust-stained, her 
little dog held to her breast, De Restaud’s wife staggered into the 
room, her face ghastly in its pallor, her eyes red with weeping, even 
the dog cowering with fright and pain. 

“ My God !” cried Oliver, leaping to his feet. Is he out there?” 

“ No, no ; I am alone.” 

“Child, how could you come here? how could you come?” he 
cried, vexedly. “ Why, he w^ould murder you if he knew.” 

“ Don’t send me away !” she screamed, “ oh, please, Mr. Oliver ! I 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


13 



DE EESTAUD’S wife STAGGERED INTO THE ROOM. 


thought all the way you were kind and would help me. Look at the 
marks on my throat ; he choked me ; and there are welts on my arms, 
paining me dreadfully ; and he — he kicked my dog. I think its leg 
is broken. Don’t mind me. Look at Skye : is he badly hurt?” 

Oliver took the shivering little beast in his arms. 

“ Only bruised,” he said, gently ; “ but you ” He was sick 

with the horror of it! to strike that child! “You look so ill. Sit 
here in the big chair. Indeed you shall not 
go back ; Doctor John and I will take care 
of that; and if he comes, you know,” 
with that sweet smile of his, 

“your husband is a little man.” 


“ I don’t know what I did,” she said, dazedly. “ Maybe because I 
rode my pony down past here, and Louis told him, or Annette. He 
was drunk and ugly when he struck me and kicked Skye out of the 
way. Skye tried to bite him, and I interfered. Then I think I 
fainted, for I woke on my bed all hurt and bewildered. Annette 
came creeping in, sort of scared, and said he was sorry and had gone 
off to the village, but I pushed her out and locked the door. When 


14 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


he came back and they were playing cards I climbed down over the 
roof and ran here across the fields, not in the road, — a long, dreadful 
way. Now you seem as if you were sorry I came !” She reached 
down, lifted her dog to her lap, and hid her face in its coat. 

“ I only cared for your sake,” he answered, softly. When she 
bent her head he could see the cruel marks on her throat, and she still 
sobbed as she spoke. Was ever man so placed ? He almost wished 
the coward who had struck her would come, that he could meet him ; 
then reason told him he had no right to settle this woman’s quarrel. 
He wished she were his sister ; but did he in his heart ? How girlish 
and fair she was in the firelit room ! For a moment a fierce desire to 
keep her there, to defend her, swept over him. Then he said, almost 
coldly, — 

“ Will they not miss you, Mrs. de Restaud ?” 

“ Not that !” she cried, piteously. “ Call me Minny. I don’t want 
to hear his name ! He never comes to my room when he has them 
there, you know, and he has told me never to open my door : so I am 
safe until morning. I prayed all the way you’d be here and alone. I 
knew you could tell me how to get to the railroad. I saw away across 
the hills your light, and how I ran then ! I knew your dog would 
not hurt me, but I was afraid of cows ; there were some lying down, 
and they got up as I ran past, and I screamed right out, I was so 
scared. I watched you sitting here through the window, your dog at 
your feet. You looked so good and kind, I felt I could go right in 
and tell you ; perhaps you had a sister who died, or some one you 
loved ; you would hate to think they should go back to that dreadful 
place, and you would think of me alone and friendless, and help me.” 

She went to him and clung to his arm, trembling and sobbing. 
‘‘'You will not send me back? you will not send me back ?” 

“ You know I will not ; but what shall I do, if any one should 
see you here ? Don’t cry like that ; I can’t think what to do. Try 
to be brave.” 

She lifted her tear-wet face. “ If you knew my life for two years, 
Mr. Oliver, you would think I had been brave. It is not fear that 
makes me cry now, only that you are kind and there is some one in 
the wide world who will help me.” 

“Now sit down again,” he said, drawing the chair up for her. 
“ Let us plan what to do. Where is your aunt now ?” 

“In Newcastle, Maine, my dear old home. She is my father’s 
sister, and lives there all alone. She was out to visit me, but she and 
Henri quarrelled ; she is a great big woman, and she slapped him, — 
oh, I was so glad!” vindictively, — “and he just went into fits about 
it, the insult to the family honor. She thought, though, because I was 
married I must make the best of things; she’s a member of the 
Orthodox church back there, and they are very particular. I thought 
you could take me to the railroad and lend me the money to pay my 
fare ; he has all my money, you know, and never gives me any, — for 
fear, I suppose, I would run away. But Aunt Hannah will pay you : 
she’s awfully honest, but she wants her due to the last farthing ; that’s 
New England, you know.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


15 


She half smiled, and leaned back in the chair comfortably. The 
ridiculous dog was fhst asleep after his trials. Oliver thought it not 
unlikely Mrs. de Restaud would take a nap too. 

He went swiftly and woke up Mike and sent him for his horses 
and the buckboard. Mike looked out of the corner of his eye at the 
young woman ; he knew who she was, for he was an observing youth, 
and he whistled softly to himself while he harnessed the mettlesome 
horses. Oliver saw the look, and felt the first cold water of the world’s 
criticism. 

“ Now, the money question need not bother you at all,” he said, 
coming back to her side. You see, I’m a well-to-do old bachelor, 
with no demands upon me. When you get to Maine you can send it 
back or not, just as you please. I owe you something for that supper, 
you know.” 

“ That supper you had to gobble for fear of Henri ? AYasn’t it 
funny ?” 

“ A case of boy and frogs : what was fun to you was death to me.” 

“ You were not afraid a bit,” she said, looking up with admiring 
eyes. “ I have thought of you so much since that day, and I always 
pictured you afraid of nothing and doing all sorts of brave acts.” 

Oliver had a very uncomfortable feeling that he was decidedly afraid 
this moment of what the world would say. He could even fancy 
Doctor John’s cool incredulous glance, and his “ Craig, haven’t you had 
lessons enough in the past?” and “It’s a dangerous path, old boy.” 

“You are very kind to think of me at all,” he said, distantly. 
“And, now, haven’t you a hat?” 

“ No, nor a shawl. I’ll be a queer-looking traveller.” 

“ That Turkish dressing-gown of the doctor’s, — could that be used 
as an ulster ?” 

“ It might, by a lunatic. Perhaps I could play that,” she said, 
hopefully. 

“ Leave that for me, Mrs. Minny,” laughed Oliver : “ Doctor John 
will think after this I need not play it. That cap of his, — he don’t 
look human in it, but you might try ” 

“ I have been looking at it. Does it do ?” putting it coquettishly 
over her curls. 

“ Very becoming. You could be eccentric, you know, and prefer to 
make your own hats ; for that has a home-made look. There, I believe 
he has a shawl. Doctor John is a regular old maid, luckily for us.” 

He brought her a thick gray sh^awl, which he draped over her 
shoulders. It quite covered her, and she looked very small and odd. 

“ You look like a child in its big sister’s clothes,” Oliver said, 
abruptly leaving her. He was not made of iron, and she kept looking 
at him with happy affectionate eyes. “ Haven’t you a shawl-pin ?” 

“ How could I, when I had no shawl ?” she laughed. “ Do you 
think women are pin-cushions?” 

He departed and rummaged around in his room ; then he returned 
in triumph with a diamond scarf-pin. 

“ Some woman gave me that atrocity : it will do well for the 
shawl.” 


16 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ I am glad to take it away because a woman gave it to you. I 
hate to think of anybody else liking you. Is Doctor John a young 
man ?” 

Oliver thought she was either an experienced flirt or the most inno- 
cent of young persons, but her liking was so honest and apparent he 
felt the better for it. • 

“ No, Mrs. Minny : he is an old chap, like me.” 

I do not think you old,” with a tender glance. “ Besides, I’m 
twenty myself.” 

He put on his overcoat in silence, and turned out the lamp. “ Must 
the dog go?” he asked, resignedly. 

“ Of course. I would die without him.” 

Mike was waiting with the horses. “ Where will I be afther tellin’ 
the doctor ye’ve gone, sor?” he asked, calmly as if a midnight elope- 
ment was not unusual. 

“ Tell him,” said Oliver, thoughtfully, “ that Mrs. de Restaud came 
to me for assistance to get to the railroad, and I took her there : there 
was nothing else to do. He must say nothing if De Restaud comes, 
and keep him from finding out, if possible, that I helped his wife. I 
trust to your Irish wit, Mike, to send him away from the cabin in the 
dark. If I can make it I will be back here by noon to-morrow.” 

“ The greaser livin’ foreninst the wather-tank have a good harse, 
sor,” said Mike, as he cautiously released the horses’ heads and they 
started down the road at a gallop. 

The night was warm and pleasant ; the chinook blew from far sun- 
warmed plains, and myriads of stars pierced the darkness. The road 
was fairly good, though seldom travelled, and lay mostly on an incline 
towards the plains. It took all Oliver’s strength to hold the horses, 
shut in for a day or two and headed for Denver, where they keenly 
remembered the comforts of oats and a city stable. Mrs. de Restaud 
as the buckboard swung around often touched him ; she caught his arm 
once with a little cry as they plunged into a hollow ; but he talked 
distantly of her journey, restraining any affectionate confidences on her 
part with references to the absent Aunt Hannah. 

She would go to Colorado Springs ; the train passed through there ; 
she had a friend, — a poor woman — well, their washerwoman when she 
and mamma lived there that winter ; and this washerwoman was really 
a nice lady, who could buy her some proper clothes. 

“ But the money !” she cried, in dismay. “ Have you got any with 
you ?” 

They were going up a hill, the horses panting heavily. Oliver took 
a roll of bills and put them in her hand. As his fingers met hers, every 
nerve in his frame thrilled. 

“This seems a great deal,” she said, timidly. “Perhaps Aunt 
Hannah would not like to pay so much.” 

“ You need not spend it all, Mrs. Minny, then ; and, besides, the 
bills are small : that’s what makes them seem so many. Now please 
put them carefully in your pocket, and don’t let the dog chew them.” 

She laughed merrily. “ Of course not, you goose ! Oh, this ride is 
lovely ! I never saw horses go so fast. Even if he should follow us you 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 

would not let him take me.” She clung to his arm then, but he freed 
himself gently. 

“ I have to drive, you know,” he said, coldly. He meant to do or 
say nothing that the whole world should not know, but it was very 
hard to be distant, she seemed such a child. He felt she cowered away 
from him at his words, hurt and frightened, but he forced himself to 
be silent. At last she said, timidly, — 

“ I know you hate me, and I seem to realize all at once you are 
almost a stranger; and I have asked of you more than one should even 
require from an old, old friend.” 

“ Please, Mrs. Minny, don’t. I am silent because I’m thinking of 
your journey, if we should miss the train, if the washerwoman should 
be dead or moved, — for washerwomen are migratory, — if even Aunt 
Hannah should fail you.” 

“ But the town will be there, and Mr. Perkins, the d6p6t-master, is 
a neighbor : his wife takes care of Aunt Hannah’s cat and parrot when 
she goes visiting.” 

That, of course, alters things.” 

“ The only thing I fear from Aunt Hannah,” she said, dubiously, 
“ is a long moral lecture about the duties of married women and their 
having chosen a path — she says parth ; they do down there — and ought 
to walk in it. She wouldn’t let me run away with her.” 

“ Show her your bruises,” Oliver said, hoarsely. 

“ I will ; for she told me if he struck me I could come to her ; and 
sometimes, honestly, Mr. Oliver, I used to tease him so he would and I 
might have my chance.” 

Oliver whistled softly under his breath : he would not have liked 
Doctor John to hear that last speech. “ You must not tell her,” he 
said, quickly, “ about this ride and coming to my house.” 

“ Why not? I would like her to know how good you were.” 

There was no need, but he slashed his horses angrily ; then he said, 
curtly, “I am sorry you cannot understand. Could you explain it 
satisfactorily to Mr. de Restaud?” 

“ How cross you are ! and I know you look just as you did when I 
talked mean about him, — a sort of disgusted impatience. But he is 
not a reasonable being. Other people may be.” 

“ Would you have gone to those amiable friends of his for assist- 
ance to get to the railroad ?” 

“ Of course not. You know that.” 

“ Well, how is the world to know I am any better?” 

“ I suppose being a lawyer makes you so smart,” she said, in a 
melancholy tone; she assured her dog in a whisper he was the only 
being who loved her, her only friend ; that she was silly and frivolous. 
Aunt Hannah said, and seemed to be a great trouble to mere strangers 
of good dispositions. Oliver said never a word ; a little smile curved 
his lips, but he did not turn his head. Soon she grew quiet, and her 
head dropped against his shoulder, the soft wind lifting her curls to 
blow across his cheek. The dog, ornamented with the doctor’s cap, 
slept in her lap. 

Across the level land before them crept the gray glimmer of the 
VoL. LII.— 2 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


18 

dawn. Rose-colored light flamed in the far east, reflecting on the new 
snow on distant mountain-peaks. Prairie-dogs hopped out of their 
holes and sat on their hind legs discussing local politics and happen- 
ings, the bill to abolish free rents for rattlesnakes, and the extortions 
of horned owls. The Skye terrier disgustedly flung 
, off the doctor’s cap 

> ' nV - - - - 






he 


rdle now was 
that of benev- 
olent friend : 
only answered vaguely, 

“Not at all,” as if he 
did not know to what 
she referred. The horses 
dragged themselves wearily for- 
ward ; it was six o’clock, and 
they had come fifty miles over a 
difficult road in less than seven hours. 
Two parallel lines of iron stretched 
far in the distance : the clumsy outline 


iililSiiiif.r.tlJ 


"'"III... 


and barked an- 
grily at the small 
dogs. Mrs.deRes- 
taud lifted her 
head with a little 
start, blushed, and 
slapped the Skye 
terrier : 

“ Do be quiet, 
Skye. — I am afraid 
I tired you, Mr. 
Oliver.” 

He would have 
liked to say a sweet 
thing to her, — to 
most women he 
would, — but his 




HER HEAD DROPPED AGAINST HIS SHOULDER. 


of a water-tank loomed up just ahead. The goal was reached, and away 
in the north a ribbon of smoke outlined on the sky proclaimed the coming 
train. Oliver lifted Mrs. de Restaud down. Skye rushed madly to the 
hole of a venturesome prairie-dog who had taken up a residence near the 
tank and was out enjoying the morning air. The terrier found only 
a vanishing, and vented his annoyance at this and all the other vagrant 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


19 


dogs in shrill barks. His mistress was vastly amused ; the strangeness 
of her undertaking had quite gone out of her head. 

Oliver, in some concern, gave her advice regarding her journey ; 
he was uncertain of his horses about the train, and had to stand by 
their heads : so Mrs. Minny frisked about with her dog, entirely con- 
fident her difficulties were over. 

“You must send me word to Denver when you get to Maine,” he 
said, “ and be sure and make no acquaintances on the cars.” 

“ One would think I was just out of boarding-school.” 

“ The primary department,” he said, crossly. “ I wish you would 
be reasonable and listen a moment. I shall tell the conductor you are 
one of a camping-party and your mother is ill at Colorado Springs, — 
that you had to leave in such a hurry to catch the train you had no 
time to get ready. If I must tell wrong stories for you, Mrs. Minny, 
please don’t make me out in a lie the first thing.” 

“ How good you are !” she said, softly. “ I shall never, never 
forget what you have done for me. I shall say to myself, Minny, you 
may be frivolous, — Aunt Hannah says as unstable as water, — but one 
big handsome man is your friend and always will be.” 

“ Always, Mrs. Minny, to the end of my life.” 

The rush of the near train terrified his horses almost beyond con- 
trol, and he was obliged to send her for the conductor when the train 
stopped for water. The obliging official showed no surprise at Oliver’s 
ingenious story : he was used to camping-parties. He imparted the 
welcome news that the state-room was vacant, — she could have that, — 
and accepted two fine cigars. 

“ My daughter is unused to travelling alone,” Oliver said, gravely : 
“ so will you telegraph for a carriage to meet her at the Springs, and 
see that she gets out at the right place ?” 

The conductor would be very happy to oblige. Then the young 
lady asked meekly if a dog, a very little one, might also ride in the 
state-room. 

“ He might,” said the official, “ if hidden under a shawl ; for if 
this precaution is not taken, on the next trip all the women in the 
train will be bringing along their dogs. And I guess it’s time to get 
aboard.” 

“ Good-by,” said Oliver, holding out his hand. 

Mrs. Minny picked up her dog ; with it under one arm, she took 
Oliver’s hand, reached up, and shamelessly kissed him, a ghost of a 
kiss touching his cheek. 

“ Good-by, papa,” she called, running to the car, and from the step 
waved farewell until the train vanished in the distance. 

Oliver, as he drove along the road by the track in search of the 
Mexican who had the good horse, was almost dazed. He could not 
forget that farewell. He was haunted by the presence of the little 
lady of the Troublesome. He had not returned the kiss, — well, there 
was no time, — but how thoughtless, in front of the train ! and was 
there ever another woman like her? He had never seen one. Trying 
as she was all that long way, could any man have played the r6le of 
honest friend better? “Not even Doctor John,” said Oliver. 


20 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


III. 

Monsieur de Restaud looked up from his cards as the chill gray 
of dawn stole in the window. 

“ Heavens !” he muttered, “ what a night IVe had !” 

He pushed the chips away, for he had been a heavy loser, and 
staggered to his feet. He flung the banker at the game a roll of bank- 
notes and fumbled in his pockets for gold. The villanous faces of his 
four companions looked sallow and hideous after the long hours. His 
own head was aching, his mouth dry and parched. He leaned out the 
window, drinking in the fresh chill air as icy water. The room behind 
him was foul with cigar-smoke and the smell of dregs of liquor in 
many glasses. 

“Go to bed,” he said, wearied ly : “you know your rooms. I\’^e 
played enough, and you’re all winners; you ought to be content.” 

One man muttered about giving him a chance, but De Restaud 
shook his head impatiently, and they all went away. 

“ I was ugly to the little girl last night,” De Restaud said, half 
aloud. “ What did I do? Odd I can’t remember. I wish she would 
keep away from me when I’m not myself. She has no more sense 
about some things than a child. I’ll go see her.” 

He tried her door : no sound, not even the angry bark of her in- 
separable companion. 

“ I wonder if I killed the dog when I kicked it. Wish I had ; 
but she’d never forgive me. She riding down the road to see that 
fellow, — thinks of him all the time. I know in my heart she’s as 
innocent as a child about it, just out of school when I married her, 
but he will think she’s like other women and take her nonsense in ear- 
nest. A man of the world, evidently. He had better keep out of ray 
way. Those boorish Americans, — he has a fist like a blacksmith.” 

He went muttering down the corridor to his own room, and flung 
himself, still dressed, on his bed. The house was silent for hours. 
Annette in the L went softly about her work. Monsieur was so dreadful 
if awakened. Louis currying the horses in the corral scarce spoke 
above a whisper, but taciturnity had become a habit with him. The 
poultry, however, clucked merrily in the back yard ; the gobbler gave 
his views, and the hens, women-like, cackled about it, while the ducks 
enjoyed the bonanza of deep mud and pools after the rain. The cows, 
loath to go upon the hills, huddled near the barns. Annette, round- 
faced, beady-eyed, neat as a pin, stood in the door, her hands on her 
hips. She looked with pride on her fowls, — how well the plump 
darlings repaid her care ! — then she glanced across at her husband, ten 
years her junior, — the beautiful man who had spent her dowry and 
told her so charmingly he married her for that money, and who had 
brought her to this wild country. She smiled to herself in satisfac- 
tion : in this wilderness no girl could take him away. Those Paris 
girls were such wretches, brazen things. The ranchers’ daughters here, 
however, were well-behaved ; no matter what eyes Louis made, they 
would have none of him. The young girls of the mountains were 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


21 


brave and good. How they must suffer, though ! for Louis was so 
fascinating. 

“Louis,” she called, softly, stepping out on the plank walk, 
“ Madame is not yet awake, nor the little dog. It is a strange silence 
for them who are usually out so early. You climb up on the roof of 
the corral and look in her window. She never would open her door 
to us.” 

The man hurriedly obeyed. He had been thinking all the morning 
something was wrong. If she were dead — Monsieur was wilder than 
common last night, and so hasty : he had been gambling and losing 
all day. The dog must be dead : he hated Louis, and generally made 
his appearance at the window early to bark at him. Louis climbed 
up one of tlie posts of the roof, crossed, and looked in the open 
window. Annette watched him, shading her eyes with her hand. 

“ She is there, Louis ?” 

He shook his head, and dropped to the ground at her feet. “No: 
she is gone. The bed hasn’t been slept in.” 

“Heavens!” cried Annette, wringing her hands. “ Monsieur will 
be terrible.” 

“ He ought to kill her, the little cat. You need not pity her : siie 
makes game of you always because you cannot comprehend her Eng- 
lish tongue. I must wake Monsieur.” 

Followed by Annette, who prayed in a whisper, he knocked at 
Monsieur’s door. No answer. Then he went in and shook the sleeper 
gently. 

“ Monsieur,” he said, tremulously, as De Restaud sat up dazed and 
haggard-eyed, “ I hate to tell you, but I must : Madame is gone.” 

“ Liar I” cried the other, leaping to his feet. “ She would not dare. 
Get ray coat. Gone! Where? Who would take her in? Ah, I 
know. I was not far wrong all the time. It is maddening. Break 
in her door, Louis : I have no strength.” 

The man burst the door open with one powerful thrust, and they 
entered. The pillow was tumbled, an impress of a head, and there 
was a crumpled handkerchief still damp from tears. A little round 
depression at the foot of the bed showed where the dog had lain. De 
Restaud looked in her wardrobe. He knew she wore that yellow silk : 
she persisted in that since the stranger had been there. Her very small 
shoes were all in a row, — an untidy one at that. She had worn her 
little bronze slippers. And here, Annette vouched for this, were all 
her hats and wraps. She had no money, he was sure of that : did not 
Hannah Patten tell him she had refused to give Miuny money, for fear 
the child might run away and get into trouble ? He hated Hannah 
Patten, but he knew her to be honest. There was one man who would 
dare aid her, — that stranger, with his cool gray eyes and contemptuous 
glance. It was all the sense Minny had, to go to this entire stranger 
for help ; and he would help her: was she not young and pretty and a 
fool ? De Restaud was very white now, and oddly cool. He went to 
his room for his pistols. His friends, awakened by Louis, were looking 
at the loading of theirs. Annette had hurriedly prepared coffee, which 
the men drank standing up. Louis brought the horses around. 


22 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“Shall I come, monsieur?” he asked, eagerly. 

“No; you would be needed if I did not return. You will tell the 
general. If my suspicions are true, I shall kill that man or be killed 
myself. But I will be sure ; and all of you wait until I tell you to 
act. I intend to make no mistakes.” 

The five men galloped down the road in a haze of golden dust. It 
was eleven o’clock, and Madame de Restaud had been gone as many 
hours. She had a long start on her way, and they might ride far and 
fast to find her. Doctor John, in his flowered dressing-gown, but 
without his embroidered cap, which had mysteriously disappeared, sat 
before the closed door of the log cabin. He was smoking peacefully, 
and seemed to regard the five strangely-acting men in the road as a 
pleasing part of the landscape. De Restaud, leaving his companions 
some little distance away, rode close to the cabin. 

“ Mr. Oliver is, of course, within ?” he said, politely. 

The doctor looked up at the pallid face with its blazing eyes, the 
working lips, the clinched hand, the frightful controlled passion of the 
man, and answered, calmly, withdrawing his pipe, “ Of course.” 

“ He is alone ?” 

“ I think so. His man is cleaning the guns back of the house.” 

“ Mr. Oliver he sleep very late,” hissed the Frenchman, forgetting 
his English in his wrath and muttering something in his own language. 

“ He do,” said the doctor, ungrammatically, with a twinkle in his 

eye. 

“ I must ask you, sir, to wake your friend. I have business with 
him.” 

“ And I must answer, sir, I am very sorry, but I know his temper, 
and I do not care to wake my friend. He is not, as your nation say, 
tr^s aimable, when awakened from slumber.” 

“ I do not come here to quarrel with you,” cried the Frenchman, 
“ but with him.” 

“ It would require two to quarrel, Mr. de Restaud, and I am a 
peaceable man. Therefore I may say I do not wake Mr. Oliver for 
business.” 

“ It is my belief, old man, you are lying. Oliver is not in your 
house.” 

“ It is his house : let us at least be correct. Suppose you question 
his man : he may be willing to wake Mr. Oliver. Or you may settle 
your business with him. — Mike, Mike, I say.” 

As the big fellow came around the house, grinning sheepishly, the 
doctor picked up his book. 

“ Here, or, as your nation say, voici le hired man. He is yours, 
monsieur. With your pardon, I will resume my chapter.” 

He received no answer. De Restaud, seeing Mike had a fine rifle 
in his hand, went back to the waiting men, and they had a conference 
which ended in all riding closer to the house. 

“ Go tell your master Monsieur de Restaud desires to see him,” 
said De Restaud, angrily. “ I will endure no impudence. Do as I 
tell you.” 

“ I’m sorry, sor,” said Mike, humbly, “ ’deed I am, fur I’d loike to 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


23 


oblige yees, but him an’ me set up till late last night waitin’ fur the 
doctor, who’d gone doctorin’, an’ I was ordered to lit Misther Oliver 
have his slape. The doctor’s the only wan as iver I see as could go 
widout slape an’ appear the fresher fur it.” 

“ Don’t lie to me. Stand away. I’ll find out if he’s in the house. 
We’ll break in the door and search it.” 

“ He might think you robbers and shoot,” said the doctor, calmly. 
“ Besides, you are not treating him fairly. 

Why do you wish to search the house ?” 

“Because,” cried De Restaud, hoarsely, 

“ my wife is gone, and he is the only one who 
would dare to help her in this country.” 

“Your pardon, monsieur, of course ' ^ 
you are naturally upset, but Mr. 





“I MUST ASK YOU, SIR, TO WAKE YOUR FRIEND, 


Oliver has only met the lady once ; is it not making a story out of 
nothing ?” 

“I know her,” hissed De Restaud, “and, if he is your friend, he 
is a blackguard ; he is, as I know, the only one about here who would 
offer to aid her.” 

“ Not the only one,” said the little doctor, rising. “ I should have 
been very glad to have helped the young lady escape from your care ; 
any true man would have been. You are rating the settlers here very 
low, monsieur. Unfortunately, all we hear of you does not point to 
your making either a happy or a safe home for a good woman. Put 
up your revolver; I am not at all afraid; the ranchmen here are 


24 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


friendly to me. Now, if you desire, dismount, and I myself will show 
you through the house.” 

“ Humph ! you’ve changed all of a sudden,” grunted one of the 
men. 

“ I have always held,” said the doctor, pleasantly, “ that a man who • 
could not change an opinion was a bigot. Obstinacy is often ignorance. 
Your errand being such a serious one has quite convinced me it is not 
only right but my duty to wake Mr. Oliver.” 

In his heart the doctor was thinking, “ That certainly was Craig I 
heard in the house ; he has got back, and must have heard what I said. 
His window is open.” 

“ I shall wake Mr. Oliver, then,” he said loudly, as they dis- 
mounted and went into the house, “ but I shall not be responsible for 
his profanity. — Craig, open your door, please.” 

The doctor rapped, but his heart stood still. If Oliver should not 
be there ! The bolt shot back, and the man, half dressed, with blood- 
shot eyes, disordered hair, and a dazed sort of manner, appeared in the 
door-way. 

“ What in h — is all the row ?” he said, angrily. “ You must keep 
me up all night and wake me at an unearthly hour in the morning. 
What do they want?” 

“ Mr. de Restaud’s wife is missing. They desire to search your 
house. — Here, gentlemen, is a camp-bed, a trunk, and one chair. The 
lady is not here. Shall we keep on ?” 

Craig lay back on the bed and drew his travelling-rug over him. 

“ They have my permission,” he said, sleepily. “ There’s a cellar 
underneath, and one small barn. Look well under the hay. — So your 
wife has gone, Mr. de Restaud ? Perhaps her only relative has had 
feeling enough to save the poor little thing and has taken her from 
your guardianship. I fancy you would not care to have that looked 
into too closely ; and if I were you, speaking now as a lawyer, I 
would not advertise this affair too widely. Your wife might, you 
know, be persuaded to come back.” 

The doctor, fearing the consequences, shut the door hastily and led 
his visitors away. They searched the premises closely, but, not know- 
ing of the buck board, did not miss it, and the Mexican’s good little 
beast, a lather of foam, was hidden in a grove of pines a quarter of a 
mile away. 

Shortly after his guests had mounted their horses in sulky silence 
and galloped away, Oliver, newly shaven and carefully dressed, came out 
in the sunlight. He was ghastly pale, and staggered as he walked. 

“ I’ve had Mike make me some coffee,” he said, sinking in a chair. 

“ Gad, I’m played out. I wasn’t five hours coming back ; and I’m a 
heavy man for the horse. I’d like to own him. I can’t sleep : too 
tired, I suppose. Besides, I was a little worried. Where is our 
friend ?” 

“ Gone,” said the doctor, laconically. “And now, Craig, as questions 
are in order, where is the Troublesome lady ?” 

“ On her way to Maine, I hope.” 

“If you are not honest in the matter that man will kill you.” 


rUE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


25 


“ I have lived long enough on the frontier, Doc, to know that 
threatened men live long, — are safe. I did help Mrs. de Restaud 
escape : you’d have done the same. She came with great purple marks 
on her throat, in a piteous state of terror. She is as innocent as a 
child, utterly ignorant of the world. Only such a woman would have 
stayed here so long. Any ranchman here with daughters of his own 
would have helped her. They know what he is, and they are chival- 
rous men. She came to me because — because ” 

“ Craig, it’s the old story. I don’t doubt you’re in the right 
this time, — I’d have helped her too, — but you had to say sweet things 
and make love to her. You needn’t shake your head : you can’t 
help it.” 

“ On my honor. Doctor John, all that long way I thought of her 
as of my own little sister sleeping in the old graveyard of the village 
I left twenty years ago. The man who remembers a child sister would 
have thought only of her, of the purest things, with little Minny. 
She has your embroidered cap, old chap, and you will treasure it as a 
relic of lovely women if ever she returns the loan.” 

“ But you’re not a married man, Craig,” said the doctor, plaintively, 
“ and women can be aggravating, especially little ones with red hair, 
as Mike says she’s got. There must be something on the Frenchman’s 
side.” 

“Lunacy. There is my coffee at last. We’ll go for elk to-morrow 
instead of to-day : I hear there are some on Sisty’s Peak.” 

“ But, Craig,” said the doctor, as the other stretched out his tall 
length and walked wearily to the house, “ there’s the Mexican who 
will bring back your team and whose horse you had : he might tell.” 

“I have bought him at a good price,” said Oliver, carelessly. 
“ Still, if he does tell, if the Frenchman pays more, why, then the 
Frenchman and I will settle it. If one is put to sleep to-day or a 
half-century hence, what matters it ? I like life, but I am not shirking 
death.” 


IV. 

“ If I ever become poor and friendless, and should be walking 
along the streets of a city about six o’clock at night and the smell of 
fried onions were wafted towards me, I should become a criminal. I 
would steal,” said Doctor John, firmly, “ so that I also might have 
them.” 

“ Rather a lowly taste,” said Oliver, lazily. They had been to the 
top of Sisty’s Peak for elk all that day, but found no sign of one, 
only a young antelope, the chops of which, with the fried onions, Mike 
was cooking for supper. 

The doctor, radiant in his flowered dressing-gown, but, alas, minus 
his beautifully-embroidered cap, stirred the tobacco in his pipe and 
leaned comfortably back in his chair. 

“ Don’t scorn onions, Craig. I know you better. Here in this 
desolate region, miles away from women-kind, you positively revel in 


26 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ Women-kind ?” Oliver asked, vaguely. 

“ The vegetable, fortunately. Your thirst for tobacco, your sense- 
less haste to return to Denver, your restlessness, are bad signs. Eve 
entered our paradise, and back we go to civilization to-morrow because 
we expect a letter from her. I shall prescribe for your case a dose of 
moral reflections, with references to celebrated cases of the sort I have 
heard you discuss with disgust.” 

“ How far imagination will carry a man ! — almost to idiocy !” 
murmured Oliver. 

“ The question,” continued the doctor, plaintively, as if he had not 
heard, “ is, what are you going to do ? You meant well : I should 
have no doubt assist^ the Troublesome lady, — not driving so far or 
so fast, perhaps. But your honest Mexican accomplice rode his ‘ gooda 
beasta’ to Parkville last night, and he and the well-mannered Louis 
were amiably intoxicated together. Monsieur is probably well informed 
of all that took place.” 

“ Which was little enough. I would have told him ; but I had no 
desire to quarrel with him, or perhaps fight a ridiculous French duel 
over a young woman I had only seen twice, and both of us duellists 
possibly landed in jail for breaking the peace by some sagacious sheriff*.” 

“ I would not go your bail, either, my friend,” smiled Doctor John. 
“ I would like to see you shut up awhile : you’ve sent enough to 
prison walls in your time. If I don’t mistake, — passers are few this 
lonely way, and his horse was a roan, — here comes the Mexican and his 
‘ gooda beasta,’ also a nondescript creature following, who I hope is 
not the Troublesome lady returning.” 

“ Your judgment in matters pertaining to female kind is not 
accurate,” said Oliver, who had jumped up anxiously at the doctor’s 
words. “ This is an elderly, gaunt, and tall female, and she sits that 
mule as gingerly as if he were liable to go out from under her any 
moment. Do you know, I half believe that is Aunt Hannah.” 

“ Didn’t know you had relatives,” said the doctor, following Oliver 
to the road. 

“ I haven’t. Mrs. Minny has ; and if the old lady is seeking her, 
where is the young lady, and what kind of a difficulty have I got 
myself into ? She looks warlike enough.” 

have brought ze-a lady from ze railroa,” said the Mexican, 
obsequiously. “She com-a Monsieur de Restaud. He sent-a here 
for Madame.” 

“ So you told him I had taken her to the train ?” Oliver said, 
quickly, a dangerous light in his gray eyes. “ You were a fool. I 
shall come here again, and I can pay more than the Frenchman. I 
would even have bought that horse of yours at your most exorbitant 
price.” 

“ You haf not enough mon-nay for to buy my horse, sefior. He 
is one race-horse. He haf win grand mon-nay for me. I leaf ze lady 
with you ; my mule he tire : she yell all ze way and bump zeround.” 

While he spoke, the old lady, with more haste than elegance, slid 
to the ground, unfastened a carpet-bag tied to the saddle, straightened 
her black alpaca skirt, and delivered a five-dollar bill to her guide. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


27 


“ All you’ll git,” she said, in a high-pitched nasal voice, “ if you 
talk lingo forever. I ain’t to home in a kentry where my native 
tongue is butchered as you do it, and that’s all I’ll pay you, if you 
talk balderdash all night.” 

“ Si, sefiora,” gasped the Mexican. 

“ Yis, I do see; and I’ve a mind to report your insolence to the 
authorities, for that ‘ see’ is all I’ve got out of you the whole way. 
And if we ain’t leagued over unprofitable rneaders and everlasting hills 



“ THE MEXICAN AND HIS ' GOODA BEASTA,’ ALSO A NONDESCRIPT CREATURE FOLLOWING.” 


this day, and barren wastes, to last me till I die. When I git back 
East I’ll hate to look at the settin’ sun, for getting reminded of this 
journey an’ Minny’s misfortunes here. Now, he being gone, misters,” 
she said, abruptly, as Juan rode rapidly away, — “ that Warn, as he 
calls himself, — which of you is the man that made the mischief in my 
nephew by marriage’s family ?” 

It was rather an embarrassing question. The doctor politely re- 
quested that she sit down and rest, as she seemed much flurried, and 


28 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


they could talk more comfortably. After a sharp glance at him, she 
consented, sitting carefully in a chair with a groan. She was a tall, 
raw-boned woman, flat as an ironing-board, tanned and wrinkled, with 
strong features, a mass of untidy gray hair, and handsome blue eyes 
with a sly twinkle in them as if she could see a joke and make one 
too. Somehow the barren life of New England brings wit and pathos 
to the surface, of the first the dryest, quaintest sort, as of the other the 
saddest and most hopeless. Her ungloved hands were work-worn and 
large-knuckled, hands of that pride of the village, a good housekeeper 
and one who has flowers in summer of her own tending. She pushed 
an unstable bonnet she wore back on her head, and looked at Oliver 
severely. 

As she seemed to know, he said, abjectly, “ I helped Mrs. de Restaud 
get to the railroad.” 

“I didn’t need no telling,” she answered, promptly. “I’m clean 
beat ont. I never rode on an animal before of any sort or kind. I’ve 
got real rheumatic pains in my back and shoulders. It is hard for a 
woman at my age to have to gallivate over an onsettled country hunting 
a connection.” 

“ Here are some cushions,” said Doctor John, coming out, his arms 
full. “Those chairs are uncomfortable. Now, isn’t that better?” 

“ Yis. I suppose I’ll eat my meals otf the mantel-piece for a week. 
Now, you being old and settl^-like, why couldn’t you have helped 
Minny ?” 

“ Because I was not here. Object to smoking?” 

“ No, land sakes, no ; keep the skeeters off, if they be any that kin 
git a living up here.” 

“ Now, this is cosey,” continued the doctor, lighting his pipe. Oliver 
sat down near them. “You see, I was called off to a sick woman, and 
she died, — poor soul.” 

“ Of what ?” asked the new-comer, eagerly, all curiosity. 

“ I should say homesickness if I told the truth, but I called it 
mountain fever. Well, she was dying, you know, and here, as Craig 
is sitting alone over the fire, comes a little lady in a yellow silk gown 
(Mike told me, Craig : you needn’t think you’ve been talking in your 
sleep). On her white neck are big ugly bruises, welts from a whip are 
on her arms, and the little dog she brings with her has been brutally 
kicked. She throws herself at Craig’s feet, and begs him to save 
her ” 

“ You don’t never tell me that evil little foreigner dared strike 
Minny Patten !” cried the old lady. “ Oh, I’d like to git my hands 
on him ! All her mother’s fault, — always taking up with strangers.” 

“Any man would have helped her,” said Oliver; then he went on 
and told what he did, and how he left her safely at the train : he 
omitted her eccentric farewell, — possibly because he had forgotten it. 

“The poor little bird,” sobbed the old woman, “ my dead brother’s 
child ; and what a man he was! — marster of a ship at nineteen; and 
here’s his Minny he idolized living in nowheres-land with a crazy 
Frenchman. I put up with him for months when I visited here, for 
her sake; but one day, — the Pattens is all quick, on my mother’s side 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


29 


I’m a Knox, and hist’ry tells what he was, — and I slapped Henry 
right in the face like he’d been a young one. He set me out the door, 
and his man hove my trunk after me. Back I had to ride in a spring- 
less wagon, and,'gitting home, found things going to rack and ruin 
with the shiftless folks I left taking care of my house. I did advise 
Minny to stay, though, Mr. Oliver,” she said, looking at him with her 
honest, kindly gaze. “ I’m an old-fashioned woman, so I ’lowed it was 
her duty : she’d made her bed and had to lie on it. You can’t never 
tell me a girl is made to git married in this kentry, whatever it may 
be in France, an’ Minny is awful frivolous. I hain’t no liking for men 
that sympathizes with young wives when they air young an’ pretty.” 

“ I should have dragged her back, to be killed the next time,” 
Craig said, coldly. 

She rose and held out her hard, wrinkled hand. “ I think you 
done noble by her, Mr. Oliver ; and though by your looks you seem 
to be one of them city bachelors that ain’t no good moral characters, I 
know her own dead father couldn’t have done kinder by her. How 
you rid them miles in that time I can’t see, for that Warn an’ me set 
out afore sun-up an’ got to the Frenchman’s jest turned five o’clock. 
Now, how much money did you give Minny to frivol away?” 

She took out an old leather wallet and began unwinding a strap 
that held it tight. 

“ I have no account. Wait until you hear from her.” 

“ I am well-to-do, and Minny’s all I’ve got to leave my property 
to ; so that needn’t worry you ; and I don’t like her being under obli- 
gations to strange men. How much did you loan her ?” 

Oliver looked confused : “ I — I don’t know ; there might have 
been three hundred dollars in the roll, — perhaps more.” 

“What!” almost screamed Aunt Hannah. “Heavens to Betsy I 
you and me won’t never set eyes on Minny Patten till every cent of 
that money is gone. She don’t know the value on’t. She never had 
none of her own to spend afore.” 

“I think she will use it to good advantage,” smiled Oliver. “Be- 
sides, it is better she has plenty, as she seems to have missed you. 
How did that happen ?” 

“ I’ve been away six weeks, visiting connections by marriage in 
lowy, an’ I was coming here to see how she was treated, for she ain’t 
writ to me for ’most two months, an’ he’s mean enough to keep her 
from it. None of the neighbors knowed where I’d went, on account 
of their curiosity : I told ’em mebbe Floridy, an’ boarded up the lower 
winders in my liouse.” 

“Well, the neighbors will take care of her,” said the doctor, 
cheerily. “ Here is Mike : so. Miss ” 

“ Patten, — Hannah Patten.” 

“ There is nothing for you to do but to accept our hospitality, — 
city bachelors live well, you know, — and to-morrow go down to Den- 
ver with us. Mr. Oliver probably has a letter from Mrs. Minny at 
his office waiting for him, as she promised to let him know if she got 
home safely.” 

“I believe I will, and thank you,” said Miss Patten, beginning to 


30 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


smooth down her hair. “ The smell of them fried onions struck me 
all in a heap, for I ain’t eat since breakfast, my niece’s husband not 
even olfering me a chair to set on, let alone something to eat, and I’ve 
got a feeling of goneness that reminds me of one of Cap’n Sam’s sea- 
stories, — Minny’s father, you know, — where a shipwrecked crew eat 
their boots and chewed sticks to keep ’em alive.” 

“You see,” smiled Doctor John, “I was right about our humble 
vegetable. It appeals to every heart.” 

“And stomach,” said Miss Patten, walking majestically to the 
house. “ It mayn’t be proper for me to stop here, but I guess our age 
protects us.” 

“ Why, certainly,” said Doctor John, meekly. “ It’s in the very 
air out here to do erratic things, but the neighbors in your town shall 
never know, I swear it.” 


V. 

A week later Oliver’s office-boy, a freckled and red-headed young- 
ster by the name of Sam, changed to Slam by the much-tried clerks, 
knocked and announced hoarsely, “Lady to see yer.” He threw such 
meaning in the words, his bearing and manner were so full of dark 
mystery, Oliver almost expected Mrs. de Restaud, instead of Aunt 
Hannah. No letter had come from the little lady of the Troublesome, 
and that discourtesy showed she might almost merit her connection’s 
condemnation : it was certainly frivolous to neglect assuring her pre- 
server of her safety. The doctor had been especially unpleasant about 
it. “ You see,” he would say, “ I told you there were two sides to 
every story ; and the Frenchman may have been a much-enduring 
man.” The office-boy dragged a chair near Oliver’s desk, and with a 
significant look withdrew. 

“ It’s either breach er promise or some feller wot’s cheated her on 
a land deal,” he said to the clerks as he shut the door carefully. “ I 
guess there’s meat in it ; for the boss grinned when he see her.” 

“ I hope you have good news. Miss Patten,” Oliver said, eagerly. 

“ If no news is good, I have,” she answered, with a sigh. “ I’ve 
heard from Mr. Perkins that keeps the d6p6t, and he says she ain’t 
been there at all, nor no word come. There wa’n’t no mail for me, 
neither. I seen that woman at Colorado Springs : she says Minny got 
there all right, and she bought her a plaid ulster, a hat, and some other 
things, and Minny and the dog went by train the next day, and Minny 
promised to write to her, but hadn’t. The only one that knowed any- 
thing down here was the ticket-seller, who remembered her and said 
he sold her a ticket for Chicago. She must have been afraid her hus- 
band would ask. He said lots of the conductors were discharged about 
that time, and that was why, most like, all I interviewed hadn’t set 
eyes on her.” 

“ Still, it is almost impossible for a girl to be lost travelling now- 
adays. She probably took elaborate precautions, for fear De Restaud 
would follow her; but if the dog went along she will be found easy 
enough.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


31 


“I am, as you folks say out here,” said Miss Patten, grimly, 
“going on the trail, and shall watch out most for the dog, which I 
know she’ll drag around with her. I don’t doubt but I shall find 
her when that money’s gone, Mr. Oliver : as I told you, she would not 
appear until it was all spent. I think it’s ray dooty to pay you now.” 

“Don’t you think it would be better to let her settle her own 
accounts? She must be taught the value of money someway; and 
when you find her, if she is determined not to go back to her husband 
you should institute a suit to make him account for her property. They 
told me up in the mountains he was getting rid of it rapidly.” 

“ I hain’t in general,” sighed Miss Patten, “ much liking for lawing : 
folks gits in jest as rats in a trap, and there ain’t much of a property 
left when they git out, — asking your pardon for being plain-spoken, 
for I always speak my mind.” 

“ You are a little severe on us,” he laughed ; “ but I should be 
happy to advise you in any way, and to recommend a young lawyer I 
know here who would do well for you. Of course under the circum- 
stances I myself could do nothing.” 

“ I understand ; and, Mr. Oliver, I’ll apologize again. Till I see 
that woman to the Springs I did half think you knowed where Minny 
was ; the doctor’s joking and your being a city bachelor, you know, 
sot me ag’in’ you ; but here’s my hand in friendship, and I’ll send you 
word if I find Minny.” 

“ Thank you. I shall be glad to know she is safe ; for sometimes 
I think I may have done wrong in helping her that night.” 

“You done right, Mr. Oliver; and if she should come to you 
again, — as she might, having no sense of propriety, — ^you telegraph me 
to Newcastle, Maine, and send her straight home to me. I’m going to 
travel a bit afore I go home. On account of taking care of pa and ma 
in their old age, I ain’t seen much of the world. I cal’late even to 
stop awhile in New York, for there was a Blinn there that married a 
Blake, and I’ll board with her. Now remember, Mr. Oliver, she is a 
little young thing, and you’re old enough, I take it, to be her father, 
and the world is a censorious place. She shan’t go back to him, I’m 
resolved on that; and being a divorced woman is bad enough in the 
world, without giving no other reasons for talk.” 

“ You can trust me,” he said, soberly ; and after she was gone he 
sat long in thought. He wanted the good opinion of that grim, honest 
old maid. She was as unbending as her own granite hills, as stern and 
bleak to a world of easy-goers. He imagined duty ruled her always : 
a wicked thought crept in then, — how poorly duty had rewarded her ! 
mentally and physically angular and hard, ruled with an iron rod of 
conscience. Yet the soft little creatures of curves and beauty like her 
ungrateful niece knew nothing of conscience or duty, and the world 
loved them and gave them its best. 

Sara, after a discreet knock, put in his tousled head. “ Perlice to 
see yer, sir,” he said, breathlessly. 

“ What?” 

“ Perlice from City Hall.” 

Oliver went hastily to the outer office. Could she be in their 


32 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


hands? What new horror was the Troublesome lady to endure? Or 
was this some freak of the Frenchman’s? he was capable of any mean- 
ness. The two clerks were looking sideways at the brawny man in 
blue, but Sam gazed in open-mouthed admiration. Going to fires, he 
felt some days he must be a fireman ; the longing was intense as 
engines sped by at lightning speed ; but in a row or a deed of mystery 
how necessary the police, how high their positions, what chances for 
seeing things and driving the crowd, principally small boys, away ! 

“ Sorry to trouble you, sir,” said the man, awkwardly, “ but the old 
lady said you was to be sent for, as you could testify to the bad char- 
acter of the man in charge.” 

“What old lady?” asked Oliver, sharply, much annoyed at the 
matter. 

“Name Patten, I think, — a big woman, considerable thin. She 
come from your office, she said, and had noticed for days a black-look- 
ing man a-following her, and she sees him waiting for her in the street. 
So she strolls, careless-like, towards the City Hall, sir ; right near she 
sees he’s still after her, and she turns and grabs him and runs him in 
herself, as neat as any of the force could ’a’ done.” 

“ You don’t know the man ?” 

“ His face ain’t in the gallery, sir,” as if in apology, “ but it’s black 
and ugly enough to be. I’ll say that for him. She tumbled the man 
down the steps right in the Chief’s room, and he sent me here. She 
wanted the man arrested for a suspicious character : so the Chief sent me 
to get your testimony.” 

“ I’ll go down at once,” said Oliver, picking up his hat. “ I fancy 
I know th^e man.” 

“ I’ll walk behind, sir,” said the policeman, politely, “ for seeing me 
walking with you in the direction of the lock-up your friends might 
think you was being run in.” 

At the station, as he suspected, Oliver saw the man was Louis, He 
Restaud’s servant, and black and ugly he was, swearing to himself in 
French, but refusing to answer any questions. Oliver had seen master 
and man the past few days in Denver, and knew he himself was under 
their surveillance. He told the Chief that Miss Patten was justified in 
her proceeding : the man had a bad reputation in the North Park, and 
had certainly been acting in a suspicious manner ; the past week he had 
seen him watching about the streets. The Chief admitted the man was 
not handsome, might have acted oddly, but there must be some charge 
brought against him. Was the lady willing to go into court and swear 
she had fears of her life from this man Louis’s hands? 

“ Me,” said Miss Patten, majestically, “ afeard of that raskill ? Not 
a mite. But I won’t have him trailing of me around, and if the perlice 
can’t stop it my umbrella will : so there ! I won’t go into no court- 
room for it, either.” 

“Suppose you search the man,” said Oliver, smiling. “I will 
make a charge against him of carrying concealed weapons.” 

Louis resisted, with frightful profanity, but the search was made, 
and the result was a loaded revolver and an ugly knife. 

“ A greaser outfit,” said a stalwart policeman. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


33 


“ You can keep him in jail a day or two on this charge,” continued 
Oliver, “ to give Miss Patten a chance to leave the city. I tell you on 
my own account, knowing the man up at my shooting-place, he is a 
dangerous character. I had an encounter with him once, and found 
him an unpleasant person to deal with.” 



“ GRABS HIM AND RUNS HIM IN HERSELF.” 


The exasperated Frenchman was led away, breathing curses and 
defiance. In Oliver’s gray eyes was a smile of malice that Louis well 
understood. He had paid up that rudeness, and the accounts were 
squared. There would be a debt still when Louis was free again : the 
man who laughs last laughs best. Just now Oliver was decidedly 
amused. 

VoL. LII.-3 


34 


THE TROUBLESOME LADE. 


“I’m obliged to you, perlice,” said Miss Patten, rising, and pinning 
her shawl, “ but I don’t want you to think as I was in any mortal 
fear of De Restaud’s hired man. I M'a’n’t ; for if I can’t fight men 
with their own weapons of strengtli I can outwit ’em. — Good-by, Mr. 
Oliver; I’m sorry my family has brought you so much trouble, but I 
cal’late from now on you’ve heered the last of us.” 

As days lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, without 
a word from Hannah Patten or her erratic niece, Oliver felt the force 
of her remark. He was hurt and angry. At least they might have 
sent him word. De Restaud found his missing servant on the chain- 
gang after two days’ incarceration in the city bastile. The master 
blustered a good deal, but finally yielded to reason ; certainly there was 
a law against a man’s being a walking arsenal. Oliver, conscious that 
threatened men live long, went calmly about his business, often meeting 
De Restaud, but neither spoke. 

Doctor John frequently discussed the whereabouts of the “ Trouble- 
some lady,” as he always called her, but Oliver seldom spoke of her. 
If, however, a fluffy Skye terrier ran up to him in the street, he would 
look around eagerly, and sometimes a wave of color would flood his 
face, while his heart quickened. If something had happened to her 
on the long journey could he ever forgive himself? He owned, with 
a sense of anger, she was senselessly innocent and strangely familiar : 
no doubt she had told her story to everybody on the train who would 
listen. 

One June day the doctor came into his friend’s office in a jaunty 
gray suit with immaculate creases and a general air of fashion and 
newness quite dazzling. 

“ You must be going to be married,” laughed Oliver. “ Why 
this state ?” 

“ A ti'ip East, my boy. I want to breathe the fogs of my native 
State. My lungs are shrivelled up. You never suspected I was born 
in Skowhegan, Maine ; I never told you, it would have been such a 
background for feeble jokes. Besides, what man would want to say 
he was born in a place called Skowhegan ? I had to be born some- 
where, though, and Colorado is too young for me. The Achorns are 
an old family in Maine, and, though some of us call it Ach-orns, I 
like the old way. Please, your joke now, — great oaks from little 
acorns grow.” ' 

“ I’m too startled, too dazed by your decision. You haven’t been 
East in fifteen years, to my knowledge.” 

“ Never too late to mend. Besides, I’m going to Newcastle. I 
would like to see how the Troublesome lady is, and her aunt. I like 
the aunt, — good old New-England kind, honest as the day, narrow, 
perhaps, but solid worth. In another generation those old maids will 
be as extinct as the dodo.” 

^ “ It does not seem to me the proper thing to call on them when 
neither has sent us any word.” 

“That’s Aunt Hannah, bless her good heart,” smiled the doctor. 
“ She looks on you with suspicion, Craig, for Mrs. Minny is a married 
woman, and down in Maine a married woman goes into her tomb 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


S5 


when the service is over. Young girls may go to dances and other 
village jollifications, but a married woman’s place is at home, doing 
the Napoleon act and raising citizens. I like that law, too : it saves 
lots of trouble.” 

“ Perhaps ; but, remember, Maine is prolific in divorce cases.” 

“ Well, they live too shut in, folks do down there, and they are all 
opinionated and strong characters. I’ll write you from Newcastle, at 
all events.” 

This Doctor John did after a month. The letter brought a sense 
of uneasiness to Oliver, and the conviction that, with the best inten- 
tions in the world, he had done a great wrong. Mrs. Minny had 
never been heard from. Miss Patten had been at home some weeks at 
a time during the winter and spring, but would go off again, “ wander- 
ing-like,” Mr. Perkins said, and seemed not right in her mind. Mrs. 
Perkins took care of the cat and parrot, and she too affirmed that Miss 
Patten was queer and that she had remarked “ it was wrong for dumb 
beasts and birds to be housed when her own dear niece — her only con- 
nection — was a homeless wanderer on the face of the earth.” 

Mr. de Restaud had also visited Newcastle and interviewed the 
d6p6t-master, but he got no satisfaction, for Mr. Perkins told Doctor 
John “ he’d knowed Minny Patten from the time she was a little girl, 
when she played with his little dead Janie Ann, and he wasn’t going 
to tell a black-looking foreigner where she was if he knowed,” and he 
took much pleasure in mystifying the infuriated husband. 

“ Dear Craig,” the letter ended, “I think I am getting senile, for 
I begin to doubt my best friend. Do you know where Mrs. Minny is, 
and have you known all the time? I believe you (until I know to 
the contrary) an honorable man. I shall think you a scoundrel if my 
suspicions should be verified. At least make Mrs. de Restaud write to 
that poor distracted aunt wandering about the world looking for her. 
It is like uprooting a plant to tear an old woman away from her 
home.” 

Oliver wrote a few lines in reply : 

“You had better return before paresis sets in : you will be kindly 
cared for here. Soberly speaking, if I were the man you suggest, I 
ought to be in the penitentiary. I assure you I know nothing of Mrs. 
de Restaud : I have never heard from her ; and the fact that I assisted 
in sending such an irresponsible young person adrift in the world will 
always be a worriment to me.” 

So there were many hearts to be lightened by Mrs. Minny ’s ap- 
pearance; but of this she had no knowledge. Her lightest moments 
would have been saddened if she could have seen a gaunt old woman 
overcoming a shuddering horror in some great city and then venturing 
timidly to see a dead face in the morgue, — an unknown, young and 
beautiful, found dead. Nor would Mrs. Minny have known herself 
as pictured by the trembling lips of that fast-aging old woman, — “the 
dearest, prettiest little thing, and as innocent as a child.” Truly, to 
disappear in this world is to leave behind a trail of broken hearts and 
long days of worriment and pain. Sad enough in contrast is to be 
among the missing with no human being left to care, to ask, and to 


36 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


be buried in the potter’s field, — to have been a bright-eyed baby loved 
on its mother’s breast, hoped for by her fond imagining, dreamed of in 
the great future, and to be the fulfilment, unclaimed clay. 


VI. 

When the train in which Doctor John was returning to Denver 
suddenly stopped at a place where there was only the small brown 
house of a switchman, the doctor looked out of the window with 
relief. He thought it very hard that on his first trip across the plains 
in so many years there should be only stupid people in the car, not a 
congenial soul to talk with and to compare the present times with the 
old. Doctor John had crossed the plains in an ox-wagon, and he 
would so have liked to discuss that voyage with some pioneer or new- 
comer eager to hear about it. He supposed there was an accident : 
there had been two stops already about that hot box. A little crowd 
passed the window carrying something — he could not see what, for 
those standing around. He craned his neck, his professional instincts 
aroused. 

A worried-looking woman in the door of the brown house seemed 
to be denying the sufferer entrance with animatecl gestures and angry 
shakes of her frowzy head. Three white-haired little children hung 
to her skirts, and >she pointed to them in proof of her assertions. 
Doctor John half rose as the conductor came in the car. 

“ Is there a doctor here ?” the man said, eagerly. “ There’s a 
woman very sick ; just taken from the day-coach. That hag out there 
wouldn’t hardly give her shelter.” 

“ What seems to be the matter?” asked Doctor John, briskly. 

The conductor hesitated : Well, sir, she’s a young woman, but I 
think she’s married.” 

The ladies in the car took up their books in disgust. An elderly, 
portly man in front of Doctor John buried himself behind his news- 
paper : Doctor John knew him to be a physician. 

“ I’m a doctor,” said Doctor John, gathering up his belongings. 
“ I shall be glad to see what I can do.” 

“ You may be detained over a train,” hesitated the official ; “and 
she’s evidently poor, — hasn’t any baggage.” 

“ I am, fortunately, able to attend to the suffering without having 
my pay dangled before my eyes to spur me on,” growled Doctor John, 
passing the lady readers with looks of disgust. “Not one of ’em 
offered even a shawl : and the sick creature I suppose is destitute.” 

He pushed through the crowd gathered about the house, and dis- 
persed them with very vigorous English. A pleasant-faced young 
man handed him a roll of bills : 

“ I collected that in our Pullman. We’re not all so heartless as 
you say.” 

“ So that’s you, Jimmy Watson,” smiled the doctor. “ I ask your 
pardon ; before this I thought you were just a dude. I shall tell your 
mother there is hope for you.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 37 

“ Thanks,” laughed the younger man, “ There’s twenty-five dollars. 
I suppose, though, your fees will gobble it all up.” 

“To the last cent, Jimmy: that’s why I got off the car.” He 
shut the door smartly in the face of the crowd, and, finding the switch- 
man’s wife in the small hall, said, severely, “ I suppose you call your- 
self a Christian woman, ma’am.” 

“ There hain’t no meeting-house in this forsaken country not for 
forty mile, jest plains,” she said, sourly, “ and, having a family of my 
own, I ain’t obliged, if my man do work on the railroad, to take into 
my house strangers with complaints as may be catching.” 

“ Well, this is, I take it,” grinned the doctor, “to your sex.” 

She smiled a little grimly, and took up her youngest child in a 
motherly sort of way that pleased the keen observer. 

“ You’ve got a kind heart ; your tongue runs away with you, that’s 
all. And now do your best for the sick woman. I have plenty of 
money to pay you.” 

“ I — I put her in my bed,” said the woman, shyly. “ She’s a 
pretty little thing, and is clean out of her head, but she hain’t no 
wedding-ring.” 

“ Well, she is punished now, poor girl, for her share in the wrong- 
doing, without you and me saying anything.” 

“ All aboard !” sounded outside. As the train rattled away. Doctor 
John went softly to the little room where the emigrant woman lay 
unconscious of this world, so nearly on the threshold of the next. 

In the chill gray of early dawn Doctor John came out in the 
kitchen, where Jonas Macon, the switchman, sat over the fire : he had 
been forced to sleep in his chair the long night after a day’s work. 
The hospitality of the poor often means personal deprivation. 

“ Is she goin’ to live ?” asked the man. 

“ I hope so. The baby is a fine boy.” 

“Both on ’em better dead, if what wife thinks of her is true,” 
sighed the man. “As for the boy, if he must grow up and work 
as I’ve done, never gittin’ no further, he won’t thank you for a-savin’ 
of him.” 

“ He may turn out a great man some day ; and then,” said Doctor 
John half to himself, — “ she is not a common or uneducated woman, 
the mother, — he may be the better for the story of his birth, strive to 
rise the higher for it.” 

“ Likely not he won’t. Them ’sylum children don’t amount to 
.much in general. Takes a mighty smart man to come out of the mud.” 

“ Your wife has done nobly by her,” said the doctor. “ She has 
the best heart.” 

“ She is kind,” muttered the man, “ an’ she have stood about every- 
thin’ a woman can stan’. I’ll git my own breakfust. You tell her to 
turn in an’ sleep with the kids awhile.” 

The doctor went back to his patient, and Mrs. Macon brought the 
little flannel bundle out by the stove. Later the children were wild 
about it. Did the train leave the baby ? were they going to have it 
always? and could they see in the windows of the, trains, as they 
passed, lots of baby faces looking out for mothers to take them ? 


38 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


At night Mrs. Macon woke the doctor, who was taking a nap on 
tlie children’s bed. 

‘‘I think, sir,” she said, worriedly, '^the little lady is gone out of 
her head. She’s feeling round in the bedclothes for a dog, and calling 
one pitiful-like.” 

“ I have been a blind fool !” cried the doctor. “ I felt all the 
time I’d ought to know her.” He ran to the sick-room, and, luckily, 
had some quieting medicine in his case. The sutferer, however, resisted 
long, as she slept sighed, and one tiny hand felt around nervously, while 
the other, clinched hard in the sheet, resisted all pressure to open it. 

The next morning the white-haired children were very quiet; they 
played a long way from the house, and towards evening Doctor John 
kept them by him in the kitchen, telling stories. To this day the 
youngest one looks in vain for a baby to come by train that shall be 
his own property, an illusion created by the doctor’s stories. 

“ She’s asleep,” said Mrs. Macon, coming out, “ and here’s a little 
purse I found in her pocket. I couldn’t get it before, for, loony as she’s 
been all day, she watched me if I went near her things.” 

A shabby little purse, containing only a five-dollar bill and a card, 
— Craig Oliver’s, with his office address. 

“ I didn’t need this to tell me,” said the doctor. “ She is a married 
woman all right, Mrs. Macon: her name is Minny de Restaud, and 
her people are well-to-do. How she came here I haven’t the faintest 
idea; she disappeared last fall, and her aunt has searched all over the 
country for her.” 

In the morning when the doctor went to see his patient he found 
her conscious, looking with ineffable disdain on the red-faced bundle 
beside her. 

“ You’re the kind doctor who stayed off the train on account of 
me,” she said, faintly. “ You were ever so good, but I’d much rather 
have just died. She” (with a weak glance at Mrs. Macon) “ told me 
about you.” 

“ Most women would be pleased with that nice little baby.” 

“ Would they?” indifferently. “ It has black eyes, and is so ugly. 
Besides, it has no sense. My dog knew everything.” 

“ Tut ! tut !” scolded the doctor : “ that is not pretty talk.” 

“You act like my old-maid aunt.” 

“ Weren’t your dog’s eyes black too, Mrs. Minny?” 

“How did you find my name?” she cried, piteously. “And you 
can’t call me that ; for some one I love dearly has that name for me.” . 

“ You said it when out of your head,” said Doctor John, calmly. 
“ Now go to sleep.” 

“ But I’ve got lots of things I must attend to about him,” looking 
at the baby curiously. “You see, having him makes me different. I 
feel I must do things for him I don’t want to tell.” 

“ To-night will do.” 

“ I might die.” 

“ You are not in the slightest danger, nor is the boy ; and, though 
you have had your own way a long time, — possibly too long, — you 
must mind now.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 39 

She obediently closed her eyes, and in the late afternoon when 
Doctor John returned greeted him with a radiant smile. 

“I’m quite sure I am going to die,” she said, happily, “and you 
don’t know how glad I am. I feel so good and sensible, I know I 
can’t live long. Now I want you to write out legally all about the 
child and me, how I came here. His name is to be Fran5ois — French 
for Francis, you know — de Restaud, after his grandfather, who is a 
general in France. His father’s name is Henri de Restaud. My 
name, which is funny, is Minerva Patten de Restaud, and my old aunt 
Hannah Patten, in Newcastle, Maine, has my marriage certificate and 
all ray other papers. She took them away when she visited me up in 
the valley of the Troublesome. She was afraid my husband might 
take them from me and say we were not married if he wanted to go 
back to his people in Paris. I never wanted to see any of them ; one 
member of the family was enough” (with the ghost of a smile); “but 
the baby has made me see things differently. The family are very 
rich, and there is only one heir, Henri’s older brother’s son. Henri 
said he was sickly, his mother’s family being consumptive. That little 
baby may grow up a man, and he would hate me becjiuse I had not 
looked after his interests. Of course it will seem strange to people in 
France that I was here without anybody, and that is why I want you 
and the Macons to witness a legal paper telling all about it.” 

“ I have half a mind to send to Denver for a lawyer,” said Doctor 
John. “ If the little boy’s claims should ever be disputed, — and they 
might, you know, — it would be best to have everything right. Besides, 
the French people are great for documentary evidence, certificates of 
birth, and such things.” 

“ I suppose you had better,” she sighed, lying back on her pillow, 
“ but I hate any more people to know. I’ve had such a long peaceful 
time, I am sorry to have to go back to quarrelling.” 

“ Mrs. Minny, before you go to sleep I will tell you something, 
but you must not ask a question, for you have talked enough. I know 
all about you. I was Craig Oliver’s guest last fall, and I have seen 
and talked to your aunt Hannah : so you need not think me a stranger, 
but an old friend eager to serve you.” 

She caught his hand with her frail little one and turned her face 
away without speaking. He sat by her until she slept, and he felt, as 
Oliver had done, that she was a woman child, not a woman, and doubly 
dear by that clinging helplessness. 

A week had Mrs. Minny been sick at the switchman’s house when 
Doctor John telegraphed to Oliver to send a lawyer to the station. 
He also added, “ If Hannah Patten is in Denver, send her along.” 
He had telegraphed to Newcastle and found she was not there. 

When by special order the train stopped at the lonely brown house. 
Doctor John was on the watch. He went daily to the track for papers, 
having established communication with different conductors. He had 
received no answer to his message sent the day before, and he surmised 
that Oliver, with his usual attention to business, had sent a lawyer 
directly the message was received. The station was only a night and 
part of a day’s ride from Denver. To his surprise and dismay, Oliver 


40 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


himself stepped down from the train, turned, and assisted a tall lady 
to descend, a lady much burdened with parcels and carrying a large 
basket. 

There was no chance to speak until the train was gone : then Miss 
Patten said, calmly, — 

“ Where is she 

The doctor pointed to the house. “ I must tell her first,” he said, 
in a whisper : “ she is still very weak, and the surprise might upset 
her. Where did you come from ?” 

“ Posting. I’ve traced her, but went on to Denver instid, an’ was 
in Mr. Oliver’s office when the telegram come. Him being a lawyer, 
I persuaded him to come too.” 

While she spoke, the basket in her hand tilted up and down, and 
a mysterious whine came out of it. Mrs. Minny, wide awake, was 
being entertained by the white-headed trio : they were discussing 
whether they would rather have a baby or a dog to play with : they 
decided in favor of the latter, for they had never had a canine friend, 
while there was a new baby every year or so : in fact, the oldest girl 
had a care-worn look on account of her duties as nurse. In the door 
of the house appeared a white-headed child who called out shrilly, — 

“ Lady wants to know what’s squeaking out here.” 

“ Says she’s going to get up and see, if Doctor A-corns don’t come 
and tell her,” shrieked a second white-head. 

Miss Patten opened the basket, and a fluffy mass of disapproval 
bounced out, spun around, and made a vicious dash at Miss Patten’s 
ankles, while she stood a statue of patient endurance. 

I’m used to it. He hates the basket,” she said, shaking him off. 
“ I can’t blame him, for I’ve fetched him clear from Posting.” 

“ Says she just knows it’s her dorg,” yelled the third white-head ; 
and the doctor, with various inane cajolements, coaxed the dog to the 
house. Luckily, Mrs. Macon removed the infant; for, with a wild 
bark, Skye leaped on the bed, kissed his mistress’s wan face, her hands, 
uttering joyful little barks, and then, remembering old days, curled 
himself in a little round heap at her feet, looking at her with affection- 
ate eyes. 

“ Put the baby down and see if he’ll growl,” commanded Mrs. 
Minny. 

“ You heartless thing !” scolded Doctor John. 

Mrs. Macon gingerly laid the baby on the bed. Skye sat up all 
interest and amazement, then with depressed demeanor slunk to his 
feet and scuttled over the side of the bed out of the room. How Mrs. 
Minny laughed ! Miss Patten heard her. 

“ It’s many long days since I could laugh,” she said, grimly. 

“ She is only a child,” said Oliver. He wished he had not come : 
he should have sent his clerk. 

“ Is Aunt Hannah out there ?” asked Minny, softly. 

“ Yes. She brought the dog.” 

“Is she very, very angry with me?” piteously. “I did not want 
to be caught and made to go home. I want to tell her, though, if she 
worried, how sorry I am.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


41 


“ She can come if you will be quiet and let her do the talking,” 
cautioned Dr. John. 

“ I’ll be good,” she answered, eagerly. “ You know I do every- 
thing you tell me to. What will she think of him ?” — with a look of 
pride at the red-faced bundle. “After that she can never call me 
frivolous again. Why, she’s quite a young thing in experience beside 
me. Wasn’t she good to bring my dog?” 

Aunt Hannah meant to be severe and cold, perhaps to speak her 
mind a little; she had not forgiven the long, anxious mouths; but the 



WITH A SOB SHE GATHEKED BOTH TO HER BREAST. 


sight of the girl lying there white and frail, the baby in her arms, 
softened the stern old face, and with a sob she knelt down and gathered 
both to her breast. 


VII. 

“ Craig,” said Doctor John, sitting down on a nail-keg, “ why did 
you come here ?” 

“ Because you sent for a lawyer and for Miss Patten. I connected 
the mystery with the young lady I had assisted to run away, whose 
fate has b^n a good deal of trouble to me ever since. I wanted to 
help her, if need be. Is she very ill ?” 

“ Getting better fast. It was mad folly to start on a journey sick 
as she was. I don’t blame you, Craig, for that long ride and the risk 
you ran : she is very winning, this troublesome little lady, and brave 
too. It is a wonder what a woman can endure, a slight frail creature 
whose hand you could crush in your fingers.” 


42 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ But she had/’ said Oliver, uneasily, “ plenty of money, had she 
not?” 

“She was travelling in the day-coach, and has, I think, about five 
dollars in a shabby little purse. Miss Patten was right when she said 
we should not see Mrs. Minny until the money you gave her was all 
gone. Where has she been all these long months? By her finding 
the dog, Miss Patten probably knows now.” 

“ Yes, and it was as I thought, — something entirely original. Near 
Boston Mrs. de Restaud got acquainted with an elderly female who 
ran some sort of a retreat for aged pets, invalid dogs and cats. The 
idea was so novel Mrs. Minny decided to stop over and see the place. 
Finding Mrs. Blinn agreeable, and Skye contented in the society of 
his kind at the retreat, she remained. She met a sailor from Newcastle 
in the street one day, and he told her Miss Patten had not been home 
for a long time. So she decided not to write any one, but to remain 
hidden. One day a few weeks ago she came home from the village 
much upset, and acted oddly : she had either seen some one or read 
something in a newspaper, for the village storekeeper saw her poring 
over one, looking much upset. Two days later, leaving a note contain- 
ing board for her dog, she disappeared. This Mrs. Blinn, who seems 
to be a good sort of a person, worried a great deal, looking for her 
everywhere, and in her search wrote to the postmaster at Newcastle, 
for she had heard Mrs. Minny speak of having been there. Through 
that letter Miss Patten found Skye, and then started for Denver.” 

“ She may have seen De Restaud, or that servant of his,” mused 
the doctor. “ Well, now you are here, — though Pd much rather a 
stranger had come, — I want you to draw up a paper setting forth the 
facts in this case in proper legal phraseology.” 

“ I fail to comprehend just what you mean.” 

“ You see,” explained the doctor, “ the French people are particular 
about documents ; and between the property of De Restaud’s father 
and this child of Mrs. Minny’s there is only a feeble child.” 

“ Mrs. Minny’s child ?” repeated Oliver. 

“ Why, of course. Perhaps I had not mentioned it. A nice boy, — 
healthy, I think, and bound to outlive his cousin across the sea. The 
little chap born in that poor place, that switchman’s hovel, may be the 
heir of millions. So there must be no flaw in his title or the record 
of his birth.” 

“A child, and she here friendless, almost alone.” Oliver’s face 
saddened. “ Poor little thing !” he muttered, “ what a hard world it 
has been for her !” 

“She is sensible about it, too,” went on Doctor John. “She 
wanted me to write for a lawyer and have everything straight.” 

“ Did she suggest sending for me?” asked Oliver, oddly. 

The doctor hesitated. “ No : she has forgotten you, old boy. 
Women are not particularly grateful. Then it has been a long time 
since she saw or heard of you. Your vanity may be hurt, but is it 
not better that she has forgotten ?” 

“Undoubtedly,” Oliver said, coldly. He went towards the house 
hurriedly. “A freight-train passes here in a half-hour; I will go on 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


43 


that : so get your papers ready and have the people here sign their 
statements. Miss Patten should also get that Mrs. Blinn to give an 
account of Mrs. de Restaud’s stay at her house.’’ 

Mrs. Macon cleared the kitchen table and brought pens and ink. 
Oliver wrote swiftly, comparing his notes with the doctor’s remem- 
brance and Mrs. Macon’s assertions. Finally she and her husband 
signed their statements, the doctor his, and then Oliver looked at the 
clock. How hard that writing had been to him no one ever knew. 
From the closed door came the murmur of voices, — one that thrilled 
every nerve and set his heart fast beating. A feeble cry now and 
then sounded strangely, — the little life that had come in this far-off 
place and that might mean so much in the future. Outside, the white- 
headed children played in the sunshine. Skye, liberated from his 
hideous basket, which he always regarded with terror and plaintive 
whines, rollicked with them, glad of his freedom. How infinitely 
painful to record those facts before him, and to think of her as he had 
seen her first, that child woman in her clinging yellow gown petalled like 
a flower with its wide ruffle, her glowing hair, her beautiful pathetic 
eyes ! She had gone so far from those days in bitter experience and 
suffering. Was she changed, grown saddened and old, care-worn with 
thought? — a calculating woman, forced to be for the child’s sake? 
Odd, in his mental picture of her he could find no place for the child. 
He could remember her with the little Skye terrier and that childish 
manner, bnt as a woman, a mother, never. 

Ill, friendless, homeless, no waif of the streets was ever more deso- 
late than she when she stepped off the train at this barren spot, forced 
to accept the charity of strangers. Her dead father would have risen 
from his grave could he have known. His every thought, his sister 
said, had been for little Minny. Well it is the dead do not know. 

“ How fortunate you were on that train !” Oliver said, suddenly. 

Doctor John started. “Me? Yes, it was, and that I should have 
found our little runaway. I own up I looked for her all the time I 
was away.” 

The door opened, and Miss Patten came softly in. 

“ She is asleep, poor dear,” she said, gently. “ I guess my eyes is 
red. I was upset, and she don’t seem to think she done any harm 
in not letting me know where she was, she was so desprit and scared- 
like.” 

“ When you return to Boston,” said Oliver, “ have Mrs. Blinn 
make a statement of Mrs. de Restaud’s stay in her house. I must 
caution you also to be very careful of the marriage certificate and all 
other papers you may have concerning your niece.” 

“ You can trust me,” said Miss Patten, grimly. “ I took ’em away 
from that farm of theirs when I was a-visiting there, and I mean 
Minny’s baby shall have his rights, for he’s part Patten, anyway, and 
would ’a’ been my brother Sam’s grandson. Sorry I be he ain’t alive 
to see him. Minny says she saw a Bosting paper that offered a reward 
for her whereabouts or any information concerning her, giving her 
name right out in the paper, and that was what made her go away from 
Mrs. Blinn’s, who was a kind, good woman, if she is in a foolish busi- 


44 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


ness ; but I don’t know why dogs and cats shouldn’t be took care of, 
and folks in Bosting is always running to some new freak. Minny 
evidently thought Mrs. Blinn would tell on her and get the reward ; 
but Mrs. Blinn said she’d ’a’ done by Minny as her own child.” 

“ Was that what made her come West?” asked Doctor John. 

“The poor little soul thought it her duty to go to her husband, 
brute as he is,” said Miss Patten, brokenly. “And to think that I 
said she was frivolous and hadn’t no stability ! As much grit as I’ve 
got, I wouldn’t dare go to that wolfs den on the Troublesome and to 
be in that man’s power. I always thought he wa’n’t right in his 
mind. Minny cal’lated on account of the baby he’d be more kind, and 

for the baby’s sake she ought to 
make up with him.” 

Oliver drummed idly on 
the window-sill. Doctor John 
walked up and down the room, 
that had grown so still one could 
hear the ticking of the clock. 

[ “ Wiramen,” said the switch- 

iman, slowly, “ don’t git no credit 
for bein’ brave and goin’ through 
things ’count of what they thinks 
is their dooty. My wife thinks 
it’s hern to live here ’count of 
me, when she left a good home 
back East. That little woman 
in there is lamin’ the woman 
natur’ of endurin’ for a man ; 
but where my wife ’ud live and 
make comfort outer it, she’d jest 
lie down an’ die a-frettin’.” 

“You’ve read her right,” 
said Miss Patten, solemnly, “ an’ 
I’m goin’ to take her home with 
me: she ain’t goin’ no further 
West, nor to no lone farms in 
mountain valleys, which was 
nearly the death of her afore.” 

Oliver glanced at the clock, 
then abruptly said good-by. 
He left no message for Mrs. de 
Restaud, nor did Miss Patten ask him for one. She was rigid in her 
ideas of what was proper, and he respected her for it. 

“ P’r’aps,” she hesitated, “ you’d like to see the baby. I could fetch 
him out without waking him.” 

“ No,” Oliver smiled : “ a city bachelor, as you called me once. Miss 
Patten, has no interest in infants. I— I think I should be rather afraid 
of him.” 

He and the doctor walked up and down beside the track, waiting 
for the train. The latter had his big pipe, but not his flowered dress- 



“ WIMMEN don’t git NO CREDIT FOR BEIN’ BRAVE.” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


45 


ing-gowii. His embroidered cap was at the retreat for invalid pets. 
Skye had not chewed it, Mrs. Minny asserted, for she meant to keep it 
forever, especially now, as he was such a dear man. 

“ She — she — likes the baby ?’^ Oliver asked, awkwardly, as he lit a 
cigar. 

“ I am sorry to say she does not manifest any rapture at all. I 
think she was more delighted to see her dog. I always have the idea 
when I see her with young Fran9ois that she is a little girl playing 
with her doll. She is afraid of him if he cries, and moans because he 
has black eyes and looks like the Frenchman.” 

“ Well,” said Oliver, smiling sadly, “ the chapter is ended. I have 
turned a page in my life’s story. She will be safe and sheltered now, 
and I delegate to you my position as adviser. In the next elopement 
Mrs. Minny makes you must be the assistant. There is my train ; and 
so good-by.” 

Oliver thought the whole affair would pass from his mind, espe- 
cially as Doctor John on his return said they had gone to Maine and 
Mrs. Minny had never mentioned him ; but one day a month from 
that time at the switchman’s house a letter came to Oliver. He looked 
at the scrawly superscription, the post-mark Newcastle, and he knew 
well Hannah Patten did not attempt an Italian hand. He smiled with 
pleasure : it was good to be remembered after the long silence, and he 
had braved many dangers for that ungrateful young woman, the worst 
an encounter with her frenzied husband. 

“ Dear Mr. Oliver, — 

“ To think you were so near and I could not see you ! I cried 
when they told me. I am not going to pay your money back yet until 
I get my own from Mr. de Pestaud. We have put our case in the 
hands of an old lawyer here who was a college-mate of my dear dead 
father, and he thinks I ought to get a divorce, and has written to Mr. 
de Restaud so. We watch the baby closely, for fear Henri will try to 
steal him. I have never thanked you for helping me run away. How 
good you were ! I think of you often ; but Aunt Hannah will never 
speak of you, and folks here think it is dreadful to be divorced. They 
say I am she that married a Frenchman — I suppose they think he is 
from Canada — and is going into the courts to get a separation from him. 
For no fault of mine I must be disgraced. Even Aunt Hannah 
admits I never ought to go back to him ; it would not be safe. 

“ I had a nice time at that dogs’ home ; it was a funny place, with 
the nicest old dogs and cats. Skye had a grand time. One dog was 
fifteen years old and had to be fed on gruel. Still, I think taking 
care of poor animals is better than theosophy and those fads, and 
Boston does have some real good freaks. I expect some day they will 
build an old maids’ home. You never saw so many old maids as there 
are there. Mrs. Blinn has seven sisters in one of those Newton towns, 
— there’s an endless chain of them, — and not one of them — the sisters, 
not the towns — ever had a beau. 

“ Please do not dislike me, or at the mention of my name put on 
your haughty look, as you did when I said things offending your nice 


46 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


sense of what a woman’s conversation sliould be; and write me one 
little letter to say you are still my good friend. I shall never ask you 
to help me again ; I do not need it : so you will be safe in continuing 
our acquaintance. Aunt Hannah does not know I have written you. 
I get too many moral lectures anyway from her, for she says I must 
educate myself so my son will have a high opinion of me. He does 
not bother about me, but divides his attention })rincipally in blinking 
at her and the lamp, with a leaning towards the light. That last is 
naughty, is it not ? 

“ Always your friend (as the doctor calls me) 

“ The Troublesome Lady.” 

The wound was not healed, Oliver thought bitterly. Why of all 
women must he care for this one and be so haunted by her memory? 
Every look of hers, her words, her gestures, the little yellow gown, 
were as plain to him after a year as if he had seen her but yesterday. 
He had striven hard to forget, to do his duty. Yet was there harm 
in writing just a few lines? The narrow path was terribly lonely 
in life, — not a path that had been his in the past; and yet — and yet 
she was a child. That stern honest old woman believed in him and 
trusted to his honor. 

While he mused, the shock-headed boy knocked and thrust in his 
freckled face. “ Gent ter see yer,” he said, hoarser than usual, for 
there had been a base-ball match the day before, and he had been 
excused from duty because his “ mudder was sick.” 

“Show him in,” said Oliver, locking the letter in his desk. The 
last man he expected to see entered the room, shut the door behind 
him, took a chair, then, with almost a threatening gesture, moved it 
close to the desk. Henri de Restaud ! 


VIII. 

Oliver wondered if the Frenchman had come to kill him. There 
was no time to cry out or to move in self-defence. If De Restaud 
came to murder, he was prepared to do it quickly : up in the valley of 
the Troublesome he had been called a good shot. A vagrant ray of 
sunshine filtered in between the slats of the closed blind, resting on a 
faded spot on the carpet. Oliver idly watched it, while thoughts of his 
past, the present, the woman who had just written him, went through 
his mind swifter than ever electricity carried a message. 

A lamp lit and bright, a flash, a crash, and darkness. Oliver’s 
fingers tightened on the arm of his chair, his lips quivered. He 
seemed to be gazing down the unfathomable depths of eternity. The 
sins of his past came and leered at him ; the awful, unanswered ques- 
tion of the centuries, of all recorded time, haunted him: “And 
afterwards ?” 

He had heard that madmen quailed at bravery, were deterred from 
evil purpose by quiet common sense: so he looked steadily at his 
visitor. What a dreadful creature he had become! Nor was it liquor 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


47 


alone that had crazed his brain. There is a drug so easy of purchase, 
so pleasing of effect at first, that insensibly it steals away reason, 
caution, decency. On the hairy hand of the Frenchman were tiny 
red dots; and similar dots tattooed all his body. He had not learned 
to take morphine in the convenient capsules, and his dissipation was 
attended by a tiny pain like the prick of conscience. He was terribly 
pale, with the glazed pallor of a corpse, his eyes weirdly bright, his 
hair, a few months ago untouched by time, streaked with gray. Of 
all sad drift on the shores of time a human wreck like this is the most 
dreadful. 

“You are surprised to see me,” He Restaud said, 'calmly, but his 
long thin fingers trembled, showing the agitation he strove to repress. 

“ I should be glad to assist you in any way,” Oliver answered, his 
voice strangely hoarse, the words coming with difficulty. 

“ I think you can,” said the other, slowly, “ for you seem to have 
influence with her and that old she-dragon, her aunt. I know all about 
that night, your visit down the railroad. I know I have a son, and for 
his sake I want you to help me.” 

“ What can I do? Surely you must have a lawyer of your own. 
I would not undertake your case for any consideration.” 

“ Do not be too hasty, Mr. Oliver. I do not require your services 
in any legal capacity, but, as you say in this country in your labor 
difficulties, as an arbitrator. My nephew in France is dead, and my 
father writes me to come home and bring my wife and child.” 

“She will never consent,” Oliver said, hastily. “Her aunt would 
not let her go.” 

“ I think a husband has some rights, Mr. Oliver. You see I am 
very temperate in the matter, though I have cause for anger. Now, 
ray son has a future; my father will make him his heir, for my brother 
is rich, and, besides, none of us are long-lived. I shall not last long; 
you see I have failed very fast. I want to go back to my own country 
and live the few days left, and I — I — want you to help me.” He 
broke down then in a womanish way and took out his handkerchief. 
Oliver had felt contempt before, it turned to pity now for the sham- 
bling creature so wretched in his mental degradation. “ I am willing 
to forgive her the disgrace she has brought upon me,” he sobbed, 
“even that application for divorce. My father will overlook the fact 
that I married out of my station, — beneath me ; though never before 
would he notice my marriage. The child has made all the difference 
in the world, and I haven’t even been allowed to see him. It is a 
crime to treat a father so. Even an American court must recognize 
my rights.” 

“ I have no confidence that you would treat your wife decently if 
she came back. It would be an unwise experiment,” Oliver said, 
coldly. 

“ But I give you my word I will. She can have that awful aunt 
with her always. I will not say three words to either of them. She 
can have her own house in Paris, or live with my father : only I ask 
that my child shall be brought back to me and my father shall be his 
guardian. You can see yourself I am fair and generous in the matter. 


48 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


There is a great difference between the heir of the De Restaud millions, 
one of the finest names in France (I know I am not a worthy repre- 
sentative of the family, monsieur), and the child of a divorced woman 
in that frightful Maine town, where they go to sewing-societies for one 
pleasure and to prayer-meetings all the week. You know my wife 
is not fit to bring up a child. How did she act with you ? Was that 
right and proper even in an American young lady, eh ?” 

“I fail to see anything in the conduct of Mrs. de Restaud that 
would not stand the most searching investigation,” said Oliver. “ Your 
own case would not be so clear ; and I warn you an American jury is 
always on the side .of a woman if she is good and has been wronged.” 

“You are on a very high horse, Mr. Oliver. Perhaps I can assist 
you to dismount. My wife’s lawyer writes me she will sue for a 
divorce. Very well, so shall I myself.” 

“ Really, Mr. de Restaud, this is none of my affair,” cried Oliver, 
impatiently. “ I refuse to listen to you any longer.” 

“You will, monsieur, because it shall be 
your affair.” 

; “How?” 

“ I shall name you the co-respondent, 
^our drive with my wife that night will have 



“YOU ARE AN INFERNAL SCOUNDREL!” SAID OLIVER. 



no romance for a jury of sober-minded citizens. Do not be too hasty. 
I have listened to conversation at a club political here, and I have 
heard you desire office some time, to be governor of the State. The 
scandal which you cannot silence will hurt your chances, eh ? I find 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


49 


the world eager to hear such things, — the newpapers of the oppo- 
sition most anxious to publish ugly stories of an opponent. You 
have made many enemies in your profession : this will be their oppor- 
tunity.” 

“ You are an infernal scoundrel !” said Oliver, white to the lips. 
“ If you were anything but a morphine wreck I would throw you out 
of my office.” 

“ I do not desire quarrel, I am a sick man, — much weaker than I 
thought.” De Restaud paused and wiped his wet forehead, breathing 
heavily. “This has been a task. You know the consequence: you 
persuade my wife to come back to me, with the aunt if she desire, but 
my child, and go to France, or I bring suit for divorce and the custody 
of my child and tell all the facts.” 

“It is utter folly,” cried Oliver. “What can I do? I have no 
influence over your wife ; I hardly know her ; and the aunt will never 
permit her to return.” 

“ The old lady is strict ; she is proud, too ; and a young woman 
who has been through a divorce trial seldom comes out with a good 
name, — not without reproach. Consider it well, and write Miss Patten 
what I say. Truly I think my wife has a great fancy for you.” 

Oliver rose and opened the door: “Mr. de Restaud, I will write 
you my decision. I really must ask you not to prolong this interview. 
There is a limit to my forbearance.” 

De Restaud bowed mockingly. “ I shall look for your answer 
soon. Perhaps the doctor also could influence Mrs. de Restaud. I 
esteem the doctor : he is an honest man, and has been good to my son.” 

With a polite bow the Frenchman disappeared, and Oliver went 
back to his desk. What should he do? what could he do? De 
Restaud would carry out his threat, there was no doubt of that. And, 
after all, would it not be better for his wife to return? If the family 
in France would care for her and the child they would be safe; and 
most women would look forward to such a bright future. If she 
refused to come, a trial, the publicity of a court-room, the newspapers, 
a life-long something to be whispered about her by some one who had 
heard. How explain that daring drive across country? viewed in the 
cold light of reason it was a foolish thing ; and lie, Craig Oliver, must 
go on the witness-stand and be questioned. A lawyer is a poor witness, 
and he would be. A man of his age doing such a romantic silly action. 
Then that story to the conductor. The other side would find him, of 
course, and perhaps a passenger who had seen Minny’s farewell. The 
whole thing was inexplainable. Then his own past, the life of a wife- 
less man of the world, — how would the jury of hard-working men view 
that? They had families and no temptations, and he was rich and had 
enemies. It was social and political death for him, and he knew it as 
he sat there, yet he did not write. 

A week later Doctor John came in. There was no need of telling 
him : he had met De Restaud, and had come to see what Oliver would 
do. 

“I have not written her,” said Oliver, awkwardly, “except a little 
note thanking her for her letter. I shall not write what he wanted.” 

VoL. LII.— 4 


60 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ I have, though,” said Doctor John, “ both to Mrs. Miuny and 
her aunt. The Frenchman cannot trouble them long, and after a 
year or so Mrs. Minny will be a Parisian. All I know of Paris and 
life there is from novels. Gad, I think if they are true Mrs. Minny 
will be quite at home in France. She likes things different, you 
know.” 

“ I should be a coward to advise her in this matter,” cried Oliver. 
“ I shall have nothing to do with it.” 

However, after an hour’s talk with his sensible old friend he changed 
his mind and wrote a severely formal letter to Mrs. de Restaud, advising 
her to return to her husband. Her answer was a piteous appeal. 
What did he mean ? After all that had happened, did he think she 
should trust herself with a man who every one said was crazy. Doctor 
John read and shook his head. “ She won’t come,” he said ; “ but 
you keep on writing, for the Frenchman means what he says. I see 
him often as he comes to my office. She need not say three words to 
him, and her aunt can be with her always until she is safe at his 
father’s.” 

This was duly written, but the answers both from Miss Patten and 
her niece were unsatisfactory until a few days before the time set by 
De Restaud. Oliver, maddened by her disregard of his warning, for 
he learned De Restaud had his lawyer engaged and the case would be 
presented, telegraphed her, “ Are you coming or not ? I beg you 
will come at once. We cannot face the consequences.” He felt like a 
coward, but what else could he do? Fight with a madman in a court- 
room? it was horrible. The answer came promptly from Mrs. de 
Restaud : she would start at once. 

Oliver took the telegram and went to find De Restaud. The suit 
for divorce must be stopped. He had done his part, and there was no 
need for further anxiety. He drove to Doctor John’s office, but the 
doctor was up in the mountains attending a case, and would not be 
back for a day or two. He knew where De Restaud lived, — a furnished 
house he had hired for a few months, — and he drove there. After 
some delay, Annette, more corpulent than ever, opened the door in 
response to his ring. She seemed worried and timorous in her manner, 
and looked at him blankly as he asked her in English if Monsieur was 
at home. Then Oliver remembered, and tried in imperfect French. 
She brightened up. 

“ No, monsieur,” she said, eagerly, “ he is seldom here ; and Louis 
is always away. I like the farm better. I am alone always, al- 
ways. Monsieur is so bad, too, — oh, dreadful ! even Louis is afraid of 
him.” 

Oliver hesitated. The poor soul was even friendly, she was so 
lonely. Perhaps she was not bad-hearted. 

“ Do you think it would be safe for Madame to return ?” he asked, 
slowly, recalling each word from an imperfect memory. He repeated 
it, as she did not comprehend ; then her manner changed. 

“ Oh, monsieur,” she cried, in horror, “ never, never ! He has 
said he will kill her. He walks all night, sometimes, and raves about 
her, and looks so dreadful. Louis said he did not like Madame, but. 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


51 


for the general’s sake, she must keep away from Monsieur. There 
would be a crime ; and the De Restauds are so proud. I think Mon- 
sieur is quite mad now ; and he is so thin ; he eats nothing, and some 
nights there are two men to hold him, he sees such things. I did not 
like Madame, she was not a French lady, but I wish my worst enemy 
no such fate as to be here.” 

“ You knew,” said Oliver, “there was a baby, a little boy?” 

“ Yes, monsieur, and I am thankful. Madame may have a good 
heart : she loved the little dog. I think she would do right to go to 
France, — to the general; he is a grand man, and now there is no one 
of the name; little Alphonse in Paris is dead, and his beautiful mother 
is dying of grief, they write us.” 

Oliver slipped a dollar in the woman’s fat hand. “ You are a 
good soul,” he said, kindly. “ I trust some day you will be back in 
France and have a farm of your own.” 

“ Thanks, monsieur, — and the beautiful poultry I had such comfort 
with in the mountains : it was better there.” 

He heard the bolts rattle behind him as he went to the waiting car- 
riage. The poor soul was almost a prisoner from her fears. What 
should he do? Mrs. Minny had started, and he could not reach her 
by telegraph. He told the driver to go to the different gambling- 
houses, and at each one he got out and searched for the Frenchman. 
He was not gambling, the dealers told him, all knowing De Restaud 
only too well, for the mad Frenchman had been a familiar figure in 
the night world of Denver for years. At the police station Oliver 
could learn nothing : De Restaud had evidently bought immunity from 
arrest. Sick at heart, Oliver gave a description of the object of his 
search to a detective and went home. In the early morning the man 
came to his house. He had not found De Restaud, but had learned 
and told such a story of depravity and vice that Oliver’s half-formed 
purpose became an instant decision. 

“ You see,” the detective said, coolly, “ when a gent gits down he’s 
apt to be a sight lower then jest a born^ tough ; and, as I can learn, 
this pertikler one has set out to see jest how quick he kin fling away 
what little life he’s got left in him, an’ how low he kin git a-doin’ it ; 
an’ this ain’t harf I’ve learned.” 

“ It is enough,” Oliver said, briefly, as he paid and dismissed him. 
Then he hastily ate breakfast, left directions for his clerks, and took 
the train for the East. He had written Mrs. de Restaud what road 
to come to Chicago, for he might wish to telegraph her there, and he 
reckoned there was yet time to meet her before she took train for 
Denver. He would tell Miss Patten the whole story and send her 
and her niece back. He would advise them to go direct to Paris. 
Annette’s advice was good. He was careless never to have thought of 
it before. 

Oliver shuddered at the prospect of the case in court. He would 
have to endure it if De Restaud would not listen to reason. Per- 
haps he could keep it out of the papers. But he knew in his heart 
not : he was well hated. “ All for the Troublesome little lady,” he 
sighed. “A pretty mess I got myself into, assisting distressed damsels. 


62 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


And yet what man situated as I was that night would have done other- 
wise ?” 

In the d4p6t in Chicago a pretty young woman was frantically 
searching for a particular baggage-man. She had on a neat blue gown, 
a seal-skin jacket, and a jaunty hat set over her curls. She was so 
sweetly pretty that several iron-hearted train-employees were moved 
to interest and sympathy. 

“ He was quite short and fat,” she said, anxiously, “ and Skye 

really seemed to like him, and he said he 
would take the very best care of him.” 

“ What is the matter, Mrs. Minny ?” 
said a voice just behind her. 

“ Oh, Mr. Oliver !” she cried, 
delightedly, giving him both her 
hands. “ How glad I am to see 
I have been so wor- 





"WHAT IS THE MATTER, MRS. MINNY?” 


ried ! I hate travelling ! I can’t find the man who has my doo-. 
Oh, there he is !” ^ 

A fat baggage-man came along the platform at that moment, drag- 
ging a disconsolate mass of wool tied by a disproportionatelv large rope. 



THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


53 


“ Oh, thank you ever so much !” Minny beamed on him, hugging 
the dog in her arms. “ Isn’t he nice? He knows everything.” 

“ A sight,” said the man, pleasantly, “ and wasn’t no particular 
trouble.” 

“ Here is my trunk-check,” Minny said, giving it to Oliver, “and 
my satchel is somewhere : in that corner I set it down ; it’s a wonder 
I did not lose it. Oh, what a time I’ve had ! Now where shall 
we go ?” 

“To find Miss Patten,” smiled Oliver, taking the satchel and 
umbrella, while she followed carrying the dog, and the small audience 
of train-men looked after her in open approval. 

“ To find Miss Patten, of course.” 

“ Oh, goodness ! I wish we could !” giggled Mrs. Minny. 

“What?” cried Oliver. 

“ It’s her turn, Mr. Oliver. She has run away.” 

“ Not with you ? You are not alone?” 

“Why, of course. Who was there? I think it is mean of you 
to look cross, when I came to keep your name out of ray troubles 
because the doctor wrote it would ruin all your political prospects. 
You helped me once, and I am coming back to a man I — I hate, — 
yes, I do, — and am afraid of, so no one will say a word about you.” 
She looked at him with triumphant virtue so satisfied and sweet he 
hung his head, the words of reproach dying on his lips. 

“ Well, there’s the baby and nurse-girl,” he said, hopefully. 

“ Why, no,” she laughed. “Didn’t I tell you? Aunt Hannah 
stole the baby. She ran away herself this time. Oh, do hire one 
of those cunning cabs, and we’ll go for a drive, and I’ll tell you all 
about it.” 

“ The hansoms would be too cold, Mrs. Minny. We will take this 
carriage,” he said, calling one ; and she, very well pleased, got in with 
the dog while he deposited her luggage on the front seat. 

“ You see,” she said, leaning back on the cushioned seat as the 
carriage left the noisy stone pavement and talking was possible, “Aunt 
Hannah got it into her head that I did not love Fran9ois — the baby — 
enough. He really did seem to fu&s the moment I took him ; and 
Aunt Hannah knows so many rules for bringing up children that I 
was nowhere wdth my own child. Old maids do, you know. Then 
he got to look more like Hen — Monsieur de Restaud every day ; and 
that was a trial. Aunt Hannah said he was just fretty, but I thought 
him de Restaudy. I suppose I am awfully wicked, but I was glad 

Aunt Hannah wanted him. Then there was ” Mrs. Minny 

hesitated and looked away ; a faint blush colored her round cheek, 
— “a red- headed young man who took me riding, — horseback-riding. 
I am sure there is no harm in that. A homely young man,” she 
added, seeing the shadow on Oliver’s face, “ not nice at all ; but one 
must have some friends. And then one morning when she was making 
the bed Aunt Hannah found your letter under the pillow, — your first 
one ; not the ugly ones telling me it was my duty to come back to my 
husband. Funny business letters those, not like you or that lovely 
ride we had. I was desperate at having to come back : so maybe I 


54 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


was mean to Aunt Hannah. One day she and the baby and its clothes 
disappeared, and she left a note telling me that I was not to search for 
her, for she was going to put Frankie — that’s what she calls him — in 
safe keeping.” 

“ I am sure there was no harm in that letter,” he said, stiffly. 

“Oh, she wouldn’t read it; I couldn’t get her to; and, just to 
tease because she said my behavior was scandalous, I kissed the letter 
and hid it away.” 

“ Well, this is a nice affair,” said Oliver, smiling a little because 
Mrs. Minny was so gayly happy. “ I don’t see what we are going to 
do. I thought your aunt would be with you, so I hurried on to pre- 
vent your coming. It would not be safe. Your — Mr. de Restaud 
has grown worse, — I think is losing his mind. I came to send you to 
France, to the old general, where probably Miss Patten has gone. 
Now you are alone. De Restaud has a spy following me, I am 

sure; he had in Denver, and ” Oliver could not say his worst 

suspicions. 

“ It will be brought out in the court, this nice little ride and every- 
thing,” chirped Mrs. Minny, “ like the chops and tomato sauce in 
Dickens, and everybody will think me dreadful.” 

“ You are very thoughtless,” he said, coldly. 

“ Now please don’t be cross,” her pretty mouth quivered and her 
eyes filled, “just as we were having such a lovely time. I can’t help 
being jolly because I don’t have to go back to him. You know I 
thought how sorry you’d be when I died of a broken heart and his 
meanness and you’d come to see me in iny coffin. The Troublesome 
little lady would be troublesome no more, but still and quiet as you’d 
like her to be, and old and sorrowful, for one day of ray old life with 
him would take all the youngness out of me. Perhaps your conscience 
would hurt you a little because you had driven me back ; for I would 
not have come but for you. The thought that your kindness to me 
would injure your good name made me miserable. Doctor John wrote 
how your political prospects would be ruined, — political prospects is 
right, is it not ? — and you couldn’t be governor or anything.” 

“ Minny, say no more,” cried Oliver, his voice trembling, “ my 
dear little girl. It breaks my heart. Doctor John was cruel to write 
such nonsense ; he was too eager to serve me. I don’t want office ; 
and I would face the slander of the world to spare you a moment’s 
pain.” 

She trembled so at his words he stopped in the midst of a sentence, 
reproaching himself for his lack of self-control. They were silent a 
few moments ; then she said, with her old smile, — 

“Now we’ve made up, — haven’t we? — and you are just as nice 
as you were that night, so please may my dog run a little on the 
snow ?” 

“ Of course,” he said, and set free the small animal, who darted 
after birds, barking joyously. Among the discomforts of having an 
erratic mistress were long confinement in cold dark cars and surrep- 
titious journeyings under shawls and in baskets : so in these latter 
days of sudden journeys and imprisonment Skye had grown to prize 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


55 


his hours of freedom. Perhaps in his heart, though, he willingly 
endured nights in the baggage-car for the joy of being rid of that red- 
faced, black-eyed something who slept so much and whom he must 
never waken with a happy bark or jump. How many times on 
account of that red-faced thing who cried had his darling’s aunt scouted 
him out of doors with a broom, saying, “Scat, you dog ! there, you’ve 
waked the baby again.” Now his dear mistress was like her old self, 
and he, Skye, though he never would tell, had seen Miss Hannah and 
that baby slinking away from the house in Maine like criminals, and 
he had never noticed their departure by one small bark, for fear they 
might return. 

“ I am very hungry,” said Mrs. Minny as the carriage turned back 
to the city, “and, as my dog is hungry too, it would be a good idea 
for you to take us to a private room in some restaurant, where we can 
feed Skye on the carpet when the waiter is out.” 

There was nothing to do, of course, but to accede tp this demand : 
the very fact that she was hungry appealed to Oliver’s generous heart. 
He thought, however, as they went up the stairs to a cosey private 
supper-room, this would sound unpleasantly to a jury. He could even 
fancy the attorney for the prosecution’s question, “ Did you, Mr. Oliver, 
think this proceeding a proper one? Does society consider it discreet 
for an unmarried man to take a young married lady to such a place in 
the absence of her husband ?” etc. Still, Mrs. Minny enjoyed every- 
thing so much, Oliver forgot his fears, and was merry enough in his 
way. The dog, gorged with food, showed off his most amusing tricks, 
which Mrs. Minny admitted he never would do before when strangere 
were present. 

“ I think he is really getting fond of you,” she said, tenderly. 

Oliver, aware of the silliness of it, but pleased at that trustful 
glance, said he hoped so. 

He left Mrs. Minny at a hotel, registering her name and ordering 
a good room for her, then with almost a sense of relief walked to 
another hotel, a long distance away. He hoped the spy might be fol- 
lowing : once or twice he looked behind, but there seemed no one. At 
his hotel a telegram awaited him. It was from a clerk in his office : 

“ Dr. Achorn telegraphed from Pueblo to you in Denver, ‘ Henri 
de Restaud died this morning at the insane asylum. Funeral in 
Denver.’ I telegraphed him you were in Chicago.” 

A second telegram was brought Oliver just as he was going to bed : 
it was from Doctor John : 

“ Tell Mrs. de Restaud. They need not come on, — too late for 
funeral. Was unconscious. Left no message. Glad you are with 
them. 

“John Achorn.” 

Death had released the suit for divorce : it would never be brought, 
and the vengeance of a crazed brain was over. With a quick beat of 


56 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


his heart Oliver realized Mrs. Minny was free at last: perhaps she 
could learn to care for him, some day, — with a swift repulsion as he 
thought of the dead far across the ])lains. Yet for once death had 
been kind to the living, and who was there to mourn Henri de Restaud ? 
His mother died in his boyhood, his father drove him from France, his 
wife hated and feared him, his child would never see his face, and his 
servants were only kept by lavish payments. So men may make a 
mockery of living, a shame of days, may be blots on this fair earth, 
useless in a useful world, may cause but pain and sadness, and go into 
eternity more friendless, more wretched in their self-inflicted degrada- 
tion, than the outcast dog slinking through the alleys of a city. 


IX. 

Mrs. Minny was oddly pale and quiet when Oliver met her in the 
hotel parlor. She looked as if she had not slept ; and his heart 
throbbed at the pain he had caused her. Of course she had worried 
about her strange position and the trouble in Denver on account of it. 
He could tell her at least the fear of the divorce was over. Death had 
settled the case. Yet it was hard to tell her of that death. He hesi- 
tated, and talked of the weather. 

“It is always horrid in Chicago,” she said, mournfully. “I shall 
hate this hotel, too; they would not let me have Skye in my room; 
they put him in some cellar, and he was not like himself when I took 
him for a little walk before you came.” 

Oliver had a bunch of roses he had bought for her on his way, but 
it seemed even heartless to offer them to such an afflicted being. How- 
ever, he sat down beside her on the sofa and laid the flowers on her 
lap. 

“Thank you,” she said, mournfully. “I don’t think I ought to 
wear them. The chambermaid asked me if I was a skirt-dancer.” 

The gloom settled on Oliver now. 

“ She was impudent,” he said, crossly. “ You see how impossible 
it is for a young lady to go to hotels alone.” 

“Well, you didn’t offer to come with me,” she sighed : “you even 
went to another hotel. Oh, I know ! I looked for you in the register.” 

“You were down in the office?” 

“ I had to go down for my dog and to tell them how mean they 
were,” Mrs. Minny said, wearily. “And you don’t know what an 
awful great ghostly room they gave me, full of closets and wardrobes 
and places for people to hide. I burned the gas all night, and I had 
dreadful dreams.” She bowed her head over the flowers and sighed 
again. “ Roses make me think of funerals : do they you ?” 

“ I am sorry I troubled you with them,” Oliver said, stiffly. 

“ Now you are cross, and you’ve got that little wrinkle on your 
forehead.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “ When you are smiling 
I think you are the kindest friend in the world. I guess I am cross 
myself. Do you know, I dreamed Henri came into that room last 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


57 


night. The bath-room had a little window looking into the room, and 
I dreamed he looked through this at me and made dreadful faces. He 
used to frighten me that way once,” — she blushed aud hung her head 
then, and was silent a moment, — “ when we were first married, you 
know. He’d wake me up by staring at me, — testing the power of the 
eye, he called it. I was afraid, anyway, because my mother had just 
died, aud I had never seen a dead person before. I can see her yet 
in her coffin, so dreadfully waxen and strange. Henri swore once over 
the Bible that if he died first he would come back and haunt me. After 
that dream I couldn’t sleep, but lay shivering with fear until daylight. 
I must go away from here to-day. Another night in that room would 
frighten me to death.” 

She trembled so at the thought, Oliver felt his task doubly diffi- 
cult. 

“Don’t you think,” he asked, gently, “that those fears are very 
childish?” 

“ Of course,” she said, briefly, “ I know I am not sensible ; you. 
Aunt Hannah, aud Doctor John call me frivolous ; yet I have tried to 
do right. I came here on my way to save your good name, and I get 
scolded. I tried to go home once, — the time I was so sick ; aud even 
Aunt Hannah said I was brave then. When my horse ran away in 
Maine I held on, and that red-headed young man said I was game.” 

She looked at him wickedly out of the corner of her eye. A little 
smile curved her pretty mouth as she saw the wrinkle on his fore- 
head. 

“ I wish that you could be serious for a little while,” Oliver mut- 
tered. “ I want to talk to you about something that concerns your 
future, — something that has happened.” 

Oliver hesitated now : how could he tell her ? She listened with 
her eyes on the carpet, a doleful expression on her face. He went off 
on a new tack. In an easy conversational tone he asked, — 

“ Would you not like to live in France?” 

“ No,” she said, promptly : “ I should hate it.” 

“ Why ?” 

“Because — because,” answered Mrs. Minny, picking viciously at 
one of her roses, scattering the petals on the floor, “ from Henri’s 
descriptions his relations must be horrid. Then he or they think 
America queer and not nice; everything is France. I should be mad 
a hundred times a day. The English up in the Park used to say, 

‘ This blarsted country, you know,’ until I felt like saying, ‘ Why 
don’t you go back to England and stay there ?’ To the De Restauds 
I should be the unpleasant foreigner our poor son married ; in my own 
country I am myself, an American. I think it is very mean of you 
to talk about my going to France; and if that is the serious thing you 
needn’t talk any more. If you are going to be horrid I think I shall 
go out and take my dog for a walk.” 

How sweet she was in her wilfulness ! Oliver forgot his errand, 
looking at the lovely childish face with its pouting mouth and rebellious 
eyes. 

“I think you are cruel to my poor rose,” he said, softly. 


58 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


“ You are cruel to me.” 

“ Minny,” he drew nearer and took in his firm warm clasp her 
little hand, “ I must tell you something, — something that will shock 
and grieve you. Try and be brave.” 

“ Not the little baby ?” she cried, piteously. “ He is not dead ?” 

“No, no; but some one is dead, — one that you feared, almost 
hated, and now must forgive and try to think kindly of, — the man 
whose name you bear ” 

She gave a frightened cry and hid her face against his sleeve. He 
could feel her tremble and quiver, but she made no sound. What 
must he do? Would she faint? How did women act, any way ? He 
put his arm around the cowering figure and tried to look into her face. 
She was ghastly pale, in her eyes a curious frightened look. 

“ My dream, Mr. Oliver !” she cried, shuddering. “ Oh, he will 
keep his word : he will haunt me always. I shall go mad from fear. 
Last night that was him. He looked just as he used to when he woke 
me up making faces. I am all alone. What shall I do? Oh, if 
Aunt Hannah were only here! I could creep up to her in the night. 
She is so brave ; she said she wouldn’t be afraid of him living or dead.” 

“Minny, you are talking foolishly,” said Oliver, sternly. “No 
dead person comes back. I am ashamed of you. And to be so silly, so 
heartless, when that poor soul is lying dead !” 

“ You don’t know anything about the dead ; no one does,” she 
gasped. “My grandfather was drowned at sea, and that night he 
came and knocked at grandmother’s door — his old knock — three times. 
Even Aunt Hannah says that story’s true. I can’t be sorry, — truly I 
can’t. I was afraid all the time; and he was so dreadful. I gave 
him all mamma’s money, and he took her jewels, everything of value. 
I am not a hypocrite, Mr. Oliver; I can’t make up sorrow just to 
please you.” 

“ I don’t want you to,” he whispered, close to her ear. They were 
alone in a corner of the big room, and no one could see. “ I spoke 
hastily because I hated to think of that dream and how you would 
make yourself believe he came back.” 

She drew away from him indignantly. 

“ I am not a child, Mr. Oliver, and you must not treat me as one. 
In some things, in suffering and worry, I am older than you are ; and 
few women could come out unscathed from the horrors of that ranch. 
I did. I kept my reason because I was frivolous and had my little dog 
to love, and a bright sunshiny day would chase all my night terrors 
away. I’d say, ‘ Minny, it’s good just to be alive.’ But always I 
have been afraid in the dark ; when I was a child queer faces used to 
peer at me, faces circled in yellow light. As I grew older, I was more 
afraid of them, and slept in a lighted room. At the ranch Henri used 
to crawl up the porch and peer in the window with a mask on, until I 
shot one night : then it was not so funny. It amused him to torture 
me. I won’t tell you any more, because you can’t understand. But 
I shall not go to Denver. It would be a mockery.” 

“Doctor John telegraphed you need not — ^you must not come. 
Shall I tell you any more ?” 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


59 


“ No.” She rose and scattered the petals of one of her flowers on 
the carpet, brushing her dress with a trembling hand. “ Nor will I 
put on black. I shall go home. What is my home, Mr. Oliver?” she 
cried, accusingly. “You have brought me here; I was doing your 
bidding. My aunt has left me ; she has taken my baby. The man I 
married is dead : he has no interest in me but to haunt me. Everybody 
is gone. I who have made all the trouble am left to bear it alone. If 
she comes back she will know of this, — my being here ; she will mis- 
trust me ; even Doctor John will. I seem to have grown old and wise, 
and, oh, so tired of the world !” 

“ Come here, Minny,” he said, in a strange tone. She started, and 
looked into his face. It had a different expression somehow, yet the 
gray eyes were very kind, and there was a tender smile about his mouth. 
She hesitated, •»! she returned to the sofa, sitting gingerly at the 
extreme end. He curned so as to face her, but sat no nearer. 

“ Minny, are both culprits, — innocent ones. We have been 

punished long enough. If I thought but I am twice your age, you 

have not been happy in bondage, and it would be bondage still, though 
a loving one. No red-haired young men in it, no wild journeys alone, 
no drawing back when once entered in. If I dared to dream, I would 
hope that you cared for me. I would say, Minny, I love you ; let us 
go away from our troubles and have a long vacation. It is dreadful to 
talk this way in the shadow of death, but I cannot let you go back to 
Maine alone or to the terrors there in that lonely house. I do not know 
where your aunt is, or when she will return ; and if people should talk 
of this time, I could silence them if you were my wife.” 

She was strangely quiet, but he saw the roses tremble on her 
breast. 

“You talk, Craig,” she said, sadly, “as if this were part of your 
sacrifice for helping me once, for being a kind friend.” 

“ How cruel women can be, — even the sweetest of them ! How 
can I be different, when I must remember the dead in Denver? Yet, 
Minny, I could talk love to you; other women have said I did that 
thing well, and I did not care for them : your little finger is more 
precious to me than all the women I have ever known.” 

She sighed and moved a little nearer, a blush on her fair cheek. 

“ Even to touch you, to take your hand, seems dreadful,” he cried, 
hastily. “ What a coward custom makes of us all ! If it were a year, 
now, instead of a day. Let the worst come.” He took her cold little 
hand in his and drew her to his side. “ Shall we go forth on our holi- 
day, Minny, leaving no address, forgetting the past, and be as if the 
world were new and we but just created?” 

“ You talk nicely now,” she said, slowly, holding herself erect and 
stately in spite of his restraining hand, “ but you said bondage, and 
that has frightened me. I have been scolded so much and driven 
about ; I want to be loved and made a friend of. If you would be as 
sweet as on that ride, if you ” 

He drew her close and pressed his lips against that soft round cheek 
blushing so prettily now. 

“ Try me, Minny. I swear to you those dear eyes shall never shed 


60 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


tears from auy word or act of mine. I have loved you since you 
came out in the light that dismal night and I thought you a little 
girl.” 

“And I loved you,” she whispered, lifting her tousled head from 
his arm, “ when you looked so disgustedly amazed at things in that 
ranch that I told you, and all of a sudden smiled on me as you 
are smiling now. Craig, I mean to try and be grown-up and good 
always.” 

“ No, no ; just be yourself. And now, dear, go smooth your hair 
and get your things on. We will be married in the quietest way. I 
know a couple of fellows I can get for witnesses : we can pick them 
up on the road.” 

She jumped up all rosy and smiling. At the door Jie looked back. 
“May I take the dog, Craig?” she said, hesitatingly. 

He smiled. “ Of course,” he said, resignedly. “You don’t have 
to ask ‘may I?’ we are comrades, you know. By l 1.3 way, tell the 
chambermaid to pack your trunk. Pay her. We will go away in the 
early afternoon. I want to be free from all memories.” 

She kissed her hand as she ran away, and he, somewhat dazed at 
the turn matters had taken, looked out on the street with unseeing 
eyes. In his heart, though, he was happy, deliriously so. He had 
loved her from the first, and there had been few holidays in his busy 
life. He would forget that ghastly spectre lying at the morgue in 
Denver, and for months live for love. The world lay all before them ; 
they would put the past by. 

“ I will steal my happiness from life,” he cried. “ Let the world 
condemn me. I can fight her battles ; and no man knowing my story 
and hers, seeing her frightened, tortured by that maniac’s memory, 
would do otherwise than I do now.” 

Mrs. Minny appeared in her jaunty travelling-suit, her seal-skin 
jacket, a dainty dotted veil over her hat, and her dog under her arm. 

“I never get married like other people,” she said, cheerfully. 
“ Look at me in these clothes ; and the other time I had on an old 
dress, too.” 

Oliver winced. “ Perhaps at the third you’ll have better luck, my 
pet.” 

“ I have said something awful, I suppose,” she laughed, “ but I am 
so happy I don’t care, and I said good-by to that ghost-room. Oh, I’m 
so glad I’ve got somebody alive to be with !” 

“ I believe you are going to marry me out of fear,” he said, as they 
drove along in the carriage. 

“ You don’t think that, sweetness,” she said, contentedly ; “and you 
have got your lovely look. You always were like a man out of a 
novel to me. A city bachelor, Aunt Hannah says. Won’t she be 
surprised ? but, do you know, she said I had leanings towards you all 
the time.” 

Mrs. Minny was very reserved when the two strange gentlemen 
joined them, and when the marriage service was being read trembled a 
little, until Skye yawning dolefully — he had not slept well, poor dog, 
in the hotel cellar — made her smile, and she was radiant when the 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


61 


solemn ceremony was over. They were married in a shabby parson- 
age of an out-of-the way church, by an underfed parson in threadbare 
clothes, and Minny’s generous heart rejoiced when she caught a glimpse 
of a fi%-dollar bill Oliver paid for the few moments’ talk that meant 
so much, — the ceremony that is, after all, the strongest link in the chain 
of human happiness. 

Oliver had told his two friends something of the events preceding 
this strange marriage, so they were tactful enough to say the right 
things at the little dinner the four had in the very private room where 
Minny had eaten the day before. Skye behaved pretty well, and the 
only cloud on his mistress’s brow was when one of the strangers stu- 
pidly asked if the dog was going on the wedding-trip. 

“ Of course,” she said, decidedly. 

“ Of course,” echoed Oliver, meekly, and the two guests smiled the 
old, old smile of the married man who knows. 

“ It was a little like Hamlet,” Minny whispered when she and her 
husband, and of course the dog, drove to the d6p6t, — “ the wedding- 
feast.” 

He laid his finger lightly on her lips. “ Sweet, there are things 
best unsaid.” 

“ You will find me so full of faults,” she sighed, in remarkable 
meekness. “ Skye, give me your paw ; this is your new papa, and if he 
gets cross, why, I can pet you. It will be no new experience to you, 
unhappy dog.” 

Then Oliver laughed and hugged her. 

“ What a child you are !” he said. 

At the d6p6t he sent a telegram to Doctor John : 

“ I have married Mrs. de Kestaud. We are off on a trip, and want 
to hear nothing from Denver. Tell ray clerks I won’t be home for 
four months. Have sent word to Jones and Bailey to take my cases. 
I am happy, and she is divine. We have the dog along. 

“Craig Oliver.” 

When, after two months’ absence, Oliver telegraphed Doctor John 
to forward his mail to St. Augustine, the first letter he opened was one 
addressed to himself from Newcastle, Maine. Mrs. Minny leaned on 
his shoulder as he read : 

“ Dear Mr. Oliver, — 

“ The first thing I saw on ray getting home from Paris, France, was a 
letter in ray niece Minny’s unreadable handwriting, which she says is 
Italian, but is as hard to read as a picket fence. I would have wrote 
right away, but the house was in such a muss from shiftless people — 
I left some Baileys in charge of it — that I had to turn to and go 
to house-cleaning before I could live in the place. I made out that 
Minny is married to you, and most likely on the very day her first 
husband was being buried. I do hope folks here won’t learn of it : 
ray family has given the village more to talk about than they ever had 
before, and they are dragging me over the coals now. Most of ’em 


62 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


knows I’ve been to France, and they pester me to death inquiring 
round. 

“I guess you about felt obliged to marry Minny to take care of 
her, and I foresee she set a store by you before her first husband died. 
I was right, too, in questioning you about her. Well, folks’ ways is 
different nowadays. If I’d had niece Minny’s bad luck with one man 
I never should have taken another one.” 



AUNT HANNAH’S LETTER. 


Oliver looked back into the rosy face leaning over his chair. 
“Well, Minny?” 

“ You dear thing,” cooed Mrs. Minny, with a soft little kiss, “ she 
don’t dream how lovely you are ! Read on : I don’t care. Aunt 
Hannah’s letters are like cold shower-baths : they send chills all over 
you, and little stings, but make you feel good afterwards.” 

“ I am sure, though, you, being well on in years, can regulate 
Minny’s conduct, and be stern with her, too. Mrs. Poole is mighty 
bitter towards Minny for her goings-on with Sam, and says he’s taking 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


63 


to smoking cigars and playing billiards since she rode with him and 
acted so flirtatiously. But Minny didn’t do much.” 

(“ Aunt Hannah’s relenting,” laughed Mrs. Minny.) 

“ And that Poole boy ain’t half baked, anyway : none of the 
Pooles ever were. I want you to see that Minny wears her rubbers 
when it’s wet, and takes care of herself; for her mother’s folks is 
weakly, and her mother died of consumption.” 

Oliver drew his wife to his knee, and, dropping the letter, looked 
at her anxiously. 

“ The Pattens are awfully long-lived,” she said, merrily. ‘‘ Don’t 
be a goose. She didn’t think I would hear that, you know.” 

“ I shall take you to Doctor John,” he said, seriously, “ when we 
get home.” 

“ I like him so much !” she murmured. “ In my trunk I have his 
smoking-cap ; I’ll give it back, now I have you. I kept it to remem- 
ber our ride by.” 

Oliver took up the letter again. 

“ I can’t have no regrets that Mister de Restaud is dead. He was 
a dreadful profitless man to everybody, and made Minny unhappy 
enough. I hope he had change of heart afore he died in that asylum ; 
but Doctor John wrote he didn’t know anything. It was good of 
Doctor John to go there and stay by him : there ain’t, to my mind, 
many men angels walking about on earth, but the doctor’s one of ’em. 
Before I forget it, bring him with you when you come down next 
summer, as I hope you will come, Mr. Oliver, for I set a store by you 
on account of your kindness to the poor child.” 

“You see she pats you on the back now,” chirped Mrs. Minny. 

“ Before I close my letter I must tell you about my visit to Paris, 
France; and, though it seemed heartless to take Franky away, Minny 
is honest about it and she will tell you I done right. I was mortal 
afraid Henry would steal him off, and, as he is a croupy child, he 
would get his death : so I just took him myself across ocean to Henry’s 
folks. I wa’n’t much sick on the voyage, nor the baby, but was 
bothered most in France on account of folks not understanding me. 
Howsomever, there was some Philadelphia people along that I got 
acquainted with, and they set me right, for they could talk with the 
French. Finally, when I got to the general’s house, coming in a cab 
that charged a mortal bill for waiting, on account of me being interested 
in talking, I found the general in, — a fine old man, too, and he could 
talk English reasonable well. I up and told him everything, keeping 
Franky on my lap. ^Now,’ says I, ‘if you don’t want this poor little 
child and treat him as your own, I take him to my home, for I’m 
well-to-do, and the little creetur’s growed into my affections.’ Good- 
ness me, he knowed most of it, that man Lewis having kept him 
informed. He set right down and talked friendly as possible, said 
Minny ought to have come to him, he would treat her as a daughter; 
then his eyes filled with tears, and he took little Franky in his arms, 
and told me their Alphonse was dead, and his eldest son’s wife was a 
helpless invalid who wept night and day. I took my things and went 
up-stairs with him to her room, — such a grand house ! — and there she 


64 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


was, a pale little creetur, that could only jabber in French ; but baby 
smiled on her, — babies knows any language, — and she shook hands 
kind with me, and the upshot of the matter was I stayed two weeks 
in their house, till Frankie got acquainted with the new nurse. I 
forgot to tell you I never thought of that cab till I was eating dinner 
three hours afterwards ; and I jumped right up, and was running out, 
but Henry’s brother, a respectable solemn-looking man, sent one of the 
help out, and a bill there must have been, but he wouldn’t let me 
settle. ’Fore I left, news of Henry’s death come, and upset them all, 
and then Lewis and Annette was expected, and, as I didn’t want to 
see them two, — especially him, — I went away. They sent a cordial 
invite for Minny to come, but I told them I guessed she’d like America 
best, as I do, where you can tell what folks say when they are talking. 

“ The general give me to understand they would legally adopt 
Franky, and I told ’em you would sign any documents — as I know 
you would — for the boy’s sake. He will have a fine property some 
day. I was awful lonesome going home : my old arms was empty, and 
I cried myself to sleep lots of nights. 

“ I will now close. Be good to Minny, Mr. Oliver, and come 
down early and stay all summer. 

“ Yours to command, 

“Hannah Patten.” 

Sometimes, as the years glide by, Mrs. Minny’s arms are empty too, 
and her heart yearns for the little baby over the sea. No other child 
has come to her, and her husband frowns at the mention of a journey 
to France: he is jealous of even the little hold the lost baby has on 
her afiections : so there is a thorn in her bed of roses. Skye, too, is 
old and sleepy ; or is it herself who has no desire for play ? Is she 
becoming grown-up and different? Will he love her just the same, 
perhaps more? He must tire of her childishness. But he does love 
her, and so fondly. 

Oliver, on his part, saw the decay of his political prospects wdth 
calmness. He heard one day at the club something they did not wish 
him to hear. A knot of men were discussing the possibility of his 
securing the nomination for governor in the coming election. 

“ Never in the world,” said one of his friends. “ There is some 
story about his wife : she does not go in society at all, — a pretty little 
thing. I wonder, though, how a man can throw away his future for a 
pretty face.” 

“ What was wrong ?” asked another. 

“ I’m not sure,” answered the first. “ I do know he married her 
the day after her husband — that crazy French fellow De Restaud — 
died, and that he ran away with her one night from her home up in 
the North Park. Oliver had a shooting-box there. You couldn’t 
make him governor ; regular exodus of our wives to the East : they 
never would call on her.” 

The words stung Oliver a little ; but that evening, when his wife 
ran to meet him at his door, wearing a little yellow gown, too, as in that 
night in the past, with Skye at her heels, he smiled in content. How 


THE TROUBLESOME LADY. 


65 


infinitely small were all honors men might give man beside the real 
heart-happiness of love ! He thought he would rather be married 
than be President ; and he blessed the kindly fate that led him to the 
valley of the Troublesome and the little Troublesome lady there. 



VoL. LII.— 5 


THE END. 


66 


FANNY KEMBLE AT LENOX. 


FANNY KEMBLE AT LENOX. 

T here is no name recalled with greater pleasure by the older 
generation of play-goers than that of Fanny Kemble. Of 
commanding beauty, inheriting talent from a long line of histrionic 
ancestors, and a thorough student, she was equalled in her imper- 
sonations of Shakespeare only by Mrs. Scott-Siddons, and in some of 
her rdles excelled that famous actress. During a series of visits to 
Lenox, the summer home of Mrs. Kemble for twenty-five years, I 
gained the friendship of an old and respected citizen, a former friend 
of the lady, who in our quiet walks and chats imparted so much of 
interest concerning her that it seemed incumbent on me to share it 
with the public. Lenox has been a noted resort of famous men and 
women. Bryant, Hawthorne, Dr. Channing, Catherine Sedgwick, Miss 
^fartineau, David Davis, Henry G. Shaw, Charles Sumner, Bret 
Harte, Harriet Hosmer, and General McClellan figured in my friend’s 
reminiscences, but I observed that none of them had so vividly and 
lastingly impressed themselves on him as had Mrs. Kemble. For the 
others he had only commonplace mention, but at her name his eye 
brightened, and incident, anecdote, and reminiscence came to his lips 
unbidden. The ])ublic saw the actress only ; he had seen the woman 
in domestic life, educating her children, superintending her farm, lish- 
ing on the little lakes that gem Lenox, in familiar intercourse with 
friends, now spurring her horse over the rugged hills, anon declaiming 
Shakespeare on Grey lock, or reciting Bryant on Monument Mountain ; 
and his recollections had that ])iquancy and freshness which such j)ro- 
pinquity alone could give. 

“It must have been,” he began, “in 1832 that I first met Mrs. 
Kemble. In June of that year, I think, she landed in New York 
with her company, having come to repeat her London successes in the 
States and at the same time to retrieve her father’s fallen fortunes. 
She was then twenty-three, in the first flush of womanly beauty, fresh 
from her early triumphs in Covent Garden. Catherine Sedgwick first 
introduced her to Lenox. The two had met while the latter was 
abroad, and had formed a firm friendship, which continued to the end 
of life. Quite naturally, after her engagements in New York were 
filled, the actress came to Lenox to j)ay her friend a visit, and, being 
deeply smitten with the beauty of the place, she fell into the habit of 
spending her summers here. 

“ If she had a passion, it was for a good horse : she was the best 
horsewoman I ever saw. I was then a lad of eighteen, and, having 
the reputation of being a good ‘ whip,’ was employed by her to attend 
her in her rides, and to drive her on her long journeys. Many a 
time, before the days of railways, have I met her at the steamboat 
dock in Hudson or Albany with four black horses and a ‘ bus,’ the 
latter well filled with her Lenox friends, who had driven over to 
welcome her: Mrs. Kemble probably had no circle of friends nearer 


FANNV KEMBLE AT LENOX. 


67 


and dearer to her than those in Lenox. The village was then the 
shire town of Berkshire, and the seat of a very pleasant society : Mr. 
Charles Sedgwick, the clerk of the court, a very intelligent and amiable 
gentleman ; his sister Catherine, the authoress ; his wife, one of the 
Dwights of Northampton, a marvellously beautiful woman, though of 
a different type from Mrs. Kemble ; the young ladies of Mrs. Sedg- 
wick’s school, eighteen or twenty of them, bright vivacious damsels; 
Miss Charlotte Cushman and Miss Harriet Hosmer; usually two or 
three distinguished strangers, guests of the Sedgwicks or visitors in 
town, completed the circle. Fishing, riding, and excursions to the 
mountains were the chief recreations of this circle of friends, the 
latter taking precedence. Mrs. Kemble was the leading spirit in all : 
on a dewy morning in June she would order round the four horses 
and the great omnibus, send for me to take charge, drive around to 
the Sedgwicks’, take Miss Catherine or Mrs. Sedgwick and twelve 
of the young ladies, — one-half of the school were allowed the treat 
on alternate Saturdays, — and away we would go for a trip to Greylock 
yonder, thirty miles distant. The black horses took us there at a 
merry rate. 

“ My driving in those days brought me many compliments from 
the ladies. I shall always remember Miss Cushman’s remark — poor 
lady, I drove her to Pittsfield for I think the last carriage-ride she took 
on earth — that ‘ I could driv^e the slowest, and get there the quickest, 
of any man she ever knew.’ If I could have bottled up the sparkle, 
the wit and humor evolved in these excursions, I could have made a 
book to be read by everybody, but it would be difficult now to re- 
produce it. If you have read Miss Sedgwick and heard Mrs. Kemble 
and Miss Cushman, you can faintly imagine what must have been 
its character. 

“ Arrived on the mountain-top, the ladies rambled over its hoary 
head, spying out the finest views and trying to excel one another in 
the adjectives applied to them. At noon hampers were unpacked and 
lunch was spread : later came singing, music on the harp, and recita- 
tions from Shakespeare by Mrs. Kemble. What renderings they were, 
and on what a stage ! The public, sir, has no idea of Fanny Kemble’s 
powers, having never heard her on the Lenox mountains in the com- 
pany of her friends. 

“Another very popular excursion was to Monument Mountain, 
celebrated by Bryant in poetry, and whose splintered peaks you can 
see yonder filling in the southern vista, as Greylock does the northern. 
On this mountain Mrs. Kemble always read Bryant’s poem of the 
Indian maiden who in despair from love cast herself headlong from 
the highest pinnacle. The maiden, as you may remember, had fallen 
in love with her cousin, — a passion deemed unlawful by those stern 
tribes, — and in reciting the poem Mrs. Kemble would ascend to the 
topmost crag and set forth the vain struggles of the unfortunate girl 
to tear her passions from her heart as though they had been her 
own, then depict her overcome with grief and shame ascending the 
precipice with a companion, ‘a playmate of her young and innocent 
years,’ 


68 


FANNY KEMBLE AT LENOX. 


Who sang all day old songs of love and death, 

And decked the poor wan victim’s hair with flowers, 

And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 
To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief 
Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red, 

until at the final catastrophe, when the maiden threw herself 

from the steep rock and perished, 

there was scarcely a dry eye among those susceptible maidens, and it 
seemed to me that the lady would follow the example of her heroine 
and throw herself from the pinnacle. 

“ When we drove far south to the Salisbury Twin Lakes, Mts. 
Washington and Riga, and the wild gorge of Bash Bish, we occupied 
two days, and the gentlemen would condescend to accompany us. I 
remember one of these parties very well : it comprised Mr. and Mrs. 
Charles Sedgwick, Miss Catherine, Mrs. Kemble, a German professor 
whose name I have forgotten, and half a score of young ladies from 
Mrs. Sedgwick’s school. We drove down to Bushnell’s tavern on Mt. 
Washington of a Friday, proposing to spend the night there, ascend 
Mt. Riga next morning in time for sunrise, and finish the day amid 
the wilderness of Bash Bish. The tavern was an old, rambling farm- 
house, with a long kitchen, and a ball-room set apart for country dances. 
This the ladies no sooner caught sight of than they were wild for a 
dance ; and to quiet them the professor and I drove three miles in the 
rain for black Cato, famed through all the country-side for his skill 
with the bow, and the dance went merrily on until midnight, when 
Mrs. Sedgwick bore the young ladies to their slumbers. Perhaps the 
most ludicrous thing of all was Cato’s pride at officiating for such 
grand ladies and gentlemen. 

“ Next to these mountain excursions Mrs. Kemble loved angling ; 
I heard her tell Miss Sedgwick that it was a passion with her, inherited 
from her mother. Her favorite fishing-grounds in Lenox were Laurel 
Lake and the Stockbridge Bowl. I have spent days with her on these 
lakes from eight in the morning till sunset, engaged in her favorite 
pursuit : when tired of fishing, she would let the boat float idly and 
sing or recite. I remember that on three separate occasions she invited 
a special friend to share in the sport. They were Catherine Sedgwick, 
Mrs. Charles Sedgwick, and Mrs. Minott, the latter’s daughter. Mrs. 
Minott went first, and as we rowed out I remember Mrs. Kemble’s 
telling her that she might consider it a great honor, as she rarely 
invited visitors, absolute quiet being required for success in the sport. 
As the fish were caught and lay flopping and writhing in the boat, 
Mrs. Minott, a lady of very tender sympathies, began to grow uneasy, 
and at length exclaimed, ‘ Fanny, how can you bear to catch these poor 
fish and see them struggle so and die ? It is awful.’ Mrs. Kemble 
was a little pricked in conscience, I suppose, for she answered sharply, 
‘ None of your sympathy, Eliza. As sure as I hear another word I’ll 
have William take up anchor and row you ashore.’ Mrs. Minott re- 
mained silent, and presently Mrs. Kemble continued : ‘ I confess that 


FANNY KEMBLE AT LENOX. 


69 


the lingering agony of the poor creatures is the great drawback to the 
sport. I liave tried many times to find an easy death for them. In 
Georgia I used to tell my slave Jack to knock them on the head the 
moment he took the hook from their gills, but he banged them about 
so horribly that I longed to bang liim : he even went to the extreme 
of cutting their throats from ear to ear, so that they looked like so 
many Banquos without the gory locks. But what do you think of 
the negroes at the mouth of the Altamaha, who bait a long rope with 
clams, shrimps, and oysters, sink it with a heavy lead, and, after leaving 
it for hours, draw it up with sheep’s-head, drum, and purple mullet 
struggling on its hooks, where they have been perhaps all night !’ 

“ Mrs. Sedgwick’s excursion on the lake was also mark^ed by an 
incident. Mrs. Kemble was the purest woman that ever lived, but 
she had her ideas about dress, and on this occasion appeared in full 
bloomer costume, — blouse, pants, and boots. Mrs. Sedgwick, who was 
very particular about dress and had a New-England woman’s regard 
for the proprieties, said to her, ‘ Fanny, how can you bear to make 
yourself so conspicuous ?’ — ‘ Elizabeth,’ she replied, and I shall never 
forget her voice or manner, ‘ I won’t listen to moralizing on this subject. 
When I go on the stage I dress for the occasion ; when I go into the 
drawing-room or to a ball I dress for the occasion ; and when I go 
a-fishing I dress for the occasion.’ By and by, as we rowed out on 
the lake, the water began coming into the boat, and Mrs. Sedgwick’s 
long skirts became saturated with the not very clean fluid. Mrs. 
Kemble several times called her attention to the superiority of her 
dress for boat-wear, and, as we rowed in, quite crushed her with the 
remark that she was the most bedraggled creature she had ever seen. 

“ The tragedienne was very benevolent, and felt keenly the absence 
of any poor in Lenox to be made her beneficiaries. Soon after she 
became a resident she was asked to give readings in the Town Hall, 
and on accepting proposed to donate the proceeds to the village poor. 
I can still see her look of surprise on being told that we had no poor. 
The proceeds finally went to aid our village library. Another large 
sum, procured in the same way, purchased the town clock, which you 
see yonder in the old church tower on the hill, still keeping good time 
after nearly fifty years of service. 

“ When Kossuth came an exile to this country he visited Lenox as 
the guest of the Sedgwicks. Catherine Sedgwick’s heart was so soft, 
and her sympathies were so broad, that every distressed and persecuted 
thing fled naturally to her for refuge. During his stay a public dinner 
was given in his honor, to which all the gentry of the region were in- 
vited. After the dinner there was a ball, at which Mrs. Kemble led 
off the dance with Judge Bishop of the Superior Court. 

“ There are old residents who still remember the furore caused by 
a very innocent act of the lady’s. One hot July day she discovered 
that several men mowing in her meadows were working only on 
water from the well, and her generous heart prompted her to send to 
Pittsfield, six miles away, for a barrel of beer to aid them in their 
labors ; but what was her surprise to find that not one of them would 
touch it, all being teetotalers, and that she had laid herself open to 


70 


ON THE WAY. 


suspicion for having introduced into Lenox a mischievous and perni- 
cious practice !” 

Often as she looked at tlie lovely scenery of the Berkshire Hills 
Mrs. Kemble used to exclaim upon its beauty. “William,” she said 
to the lad who was wont to accompany her on the fishing expeditions, 
“ your American people are very stupid not to come and see all this. 
Some day they’ll find it out, and Lenox will be a great place.” Could 
Mrs. Kemble see the neighborhood as it is to-day, she would know how 
true a prophet she had been. 

a B. Todd. 


ON THE WAY. 

W HEN I set forth for a day’s outing, I want to have a good time 
from the start. 

Experience has taught me that it is unwise to defer the beginning 
of your fun until you get to the place appointed for its consummation. 
If you do, the chances are that you will not be keyed up to the right 
pitch till too late. AA’heu, as a boy, I went to the school picnics, I 
used to go to the picnic-ground by the most picturesque and agreeable 
route I could find ; so that when I reached there I was already in the 
mood to dive into the midst of the festivities, and had, moreover, had 
the advantage of a holiday humor for an hour or so already. On the 
other hand, those methodical and conventional persons who could not 
dissociate picnicking from the special spot selected for the ceremony 
allowed themselves to become the prey of work-a-day thoughts and 
anxieties until the rustic feast had been spread between the wood-side 
and the brook ; and then, by the time they had succeeded in striking 
their proper holiday gait, it was time to pack up and go home again. 

Now, in my old age, I am going to the great picnic of the nations 
at Chicago. But I am not going to break my neck about it. I intend 
to enjoy myself by the way. There is a great deal that is well worth 
seeing between Boston, or New York, or Philadelphia, and the Big 
City by the Lake. There are several ways of getting there. I have 
made up my mind to take the way that is the prettiest and the most 
interesting, and I am going to travel in such a manner as to see the 
pleasant things to the best advantage. 

Now, I maintain that the city of AVashington is one of the most 
beautiful cities in the world. The only reason I don’t come out flat- 
footed and say that it is the prettiest, is that there are some places in 
the world that I have not been in ; but, though I refrain from adopting 
the full superlative, I have my own opinion nevertheless. 

I am yielding to no one in my admiration of what is to be seen 
this memorable summer in Jackson Park. The epitome of the world’s 
progress in art and science is there. But Jackson Park has its limits 
and its limitations, and it cannot include our Capital City, to say 
nothing of the Alleghanies and the big rivers. These must perforce 
stay where they are; but, although they cannot come to us at Chicago, 


ON THE WAV. 


71 


we can go to them, inasmuch as they lie on our way thither; and those 
of us who jump into a “Limited” and never get out until we run 
into the big d6p0t over there are simply forfeiting half our oppor- 
tunities. 

If you take out your map you will observe that the little southern 
angle which the Baltimore and Ohio Railway makes in order to pass 
through Washington does not add perceptibly to the distance to be 
travelled; and if it did, I should not care. When I catch sight of 
that airiest and most exquisitely proportioned of all domes cutting the 
horizon like a summer iceberg, I take down my hat, snatch up my 
gripsack, and am ready to alight as soon as the train stops. There 
were great men before Agamemnon ; and however beautiful may be the 
mighty Buildings by the Lake, there are creations of architecture here 
which cannot be studied without emotion and joy. " 

Nor is it the architecture only that is charming. I hold no brief 
for this lazy, smiling town; I don’t live here, and I never expect to; 
but I never rose to a com[)rehension of what town life could be until I 
visited this place; I have never found an hour of my sojourns here 
tedious, and I shall never miss a chance of renewing my intimacy with 
it. It possesses, indeed, so many winning features that it is difficult to 
decide where to begin their enumeration. So, one has met women who 
were lovely in so many ways at once that their helpless admirer knew 
not whether to fix his regards most upon their eyes, or their hair, or 
their voice, or their gait, or their whole bearing and presentment. It 
is hard to look away from one feature long enough to bestow undivided 
homage upon another. 

The atmosphere of this city during at least seven or eight months 
of the year is like that breathed by the Tennysonian Lotos-Eaters. 
There is a ripening, voluptuous afternoon flavor in it. On every 
hand there is verdure, the sweet influence of foliage, and the rainbow 
variegation of fragrant flowers. Wherever two or three Avenues are 
gathered together, there is a little park in the midst of them. You 
can have your choice either to regard the city as a congenial human 
appanage of the parks, or the parks as touches of nature claiming kin- 
ship with the city. Each of them is dominated by its bronze warrior 
on his memorial pedestal, with hospitable benches environing him in 
an admiring circle. Children tumble on the immaculate turf and 
clamber on the granite 'block, while the darky nnrse-maids gossip 
amidst clustering baby-wagons, or greet with coquettish grins the ad- 
vances of the sporadic policeman. Removed beyond the broad swee]) 
of the asphalted pavement are the prettiest and most inviting imagi- 
nable dwelling-houses of brick or stone, — and what delightful creamy 
white stone they use here ! — each one like no other, and yet all a har- 
monious family. The American architect and decorator have become 
among our most effective civilizing agents. 

One of the things for which we are most immediately thankful is 
the sense of free spaces everywhere. It is a rare, almost an unknown, 
blessing in cities. The buildings are not tall, — none of the twenty- 
story abominations that glower over other enthralled metropolises, — 
and the same proportional distance is maintained between their opposing 


72 


ON THE WAV. 


ridge-poles as between the crests of waves that come on in ranks to 
break upon the shore. Of course I love the narrow, crooked clefts 
between toppling roofs that answer for streets in antique European 
towns; they are the ideal })icturesque. But the thoroughfares of 



Washington are beautiful ; they have a broad-breasted, generous ele- 
gance that makes my lungs expand and takes the wrinkles out of my 
forehead. You can see the sky in Washington; at night the constel- 
lations are visible ; and the fair spectacle is never obscured or insulted 
by the foul smoke that broods like a curse between the heaven and 
earth of how many other hapless cities ! Washington manufactures 


ON THE WAV. 


73 


little but politics. Congress may have communication with the Pit, 
sometimes ; but it has the virtue of consuming its own smoke, and the 
skies and trees, not to mention our own collars and faces, remain as 
fresh and clean as if there were no sin surviving. 

Talking of Congress reminds me once more of the Capitol. It is 
true, and sorry am I for it, that the dome is made of iron, and the 
main body of the building is not white marble, but a sort of compo- 
sition. Only the mighty wings are what they appear to be ; and their 
truth palliates in a degree the prevarication of the older* portion. But, 
after taking what exceptions we may, our Capitol is still a work un- 
rivalled in modern art. Its site is as fine as itself. Except the Acropolis 
at Athens, there is no other to be compared with it. And the magnifi- 
cent opportunity has been fully improved. These sumptuous terraces 
that mount, range above range, to the marble summit on which this 
wonder rests, astonish the eye and satisfy the imagination. One has 
dreamed of such a thing, but has never expected to realize it. And 
when, by leisurely and stately degrees, we have ascended the ordered 
flights to the topmost platform, and turn to look back, what a noble 
spectacle lies slumbering there in the mellow sunshine! The wide, 
straight avenues radiate to every point of the compass ; a mile away 
uplifts itself the almost incredible height of the tapering Monument, 
five hundred feet of snowy marble. On a line with it to the north- 
ward is the White House, flanked by the gigantic Treasury and the 
Army and Navy Buildings ; to the left winds the broad placidity of 
the Potomac, and on the right is spread out the lovely city, mounting 
gradually to the hill. And all this superb expanse is intercalated and 
enriched with the living green of the omnipresent trees and parks. 
Overhead, a sky of unfathomable blue. 

I do not, for my part, care to explore the interior of the Capitol. 
Congress is not sitting now, and, to tell the truth, the inside is not in 
any respect comparable with the exterior of this stately edifice. Let 
us rather descend the steps of the Terrace, and stroll down Pennsylvania 
Avenue. 

This is the thoroughfare of the People. That term, in Washing- 
ton, means a preponderance of colored people. There are more whites 
than blacks in the city ; but the latter are always out-doors, and in 
every way more in evidence. The smaller kind occupy themselves — 
to call it that — with shining shoes and selling papers ; such of the older 
ones as do not vary their leisure with barbering and domestic voca- 
tions stand or lounge about in raiment of all kinds, from rags to splen- 
dor. Such brilliant shirts and trousers as some of these darky beaux 
wear I have not elsewhere seen. As for the belles, they are too gor- 
geous and immaculate to be adequately portrayed by a timid masculine 
pen. Whether in rags and tatters or in silk and broadcloth, they all 
appear equally happy and careless. Round about the porches of the 
hotels congregate in groups more or less care-worn the patient company 
of office-seekers, many of them with the wide-brimmed hats and ex- 
posed shirt-fronts that speak of Southern homes far away. As a con- 
trast to the prevailing air of indolence there are the cable-cars, which 
hum up and down the Avenue in detachments of three, — two open. 


74 


ON THE WAY. 


aud the last one closed. They whiz along and sweep round corners at 
the rate, sometimes, of two minutes to the mile ; but the streets are 
comparatively so empty that few accidents occur. The only vehicles 
that rival their speed are the bicycles, which might be said to constitute 
the characteristic motive power of the population. Not elsewhere in 
the world are there such streets for cycling as here. 

At the end of the long, loitering mile is the classic, columned pile 
of the Treasury Building. It lies directly athwart the Avenue, which, 
however, turns its northern corner and resumes its course past the 
White House. Considering that the latter was erected the better part 
of a century ago, it is surprising how well it holds its own with the 
best that we can do to-day. It is large, dignified, and graceful, the 
idealization of the Southern mansion on a large scale. It is removed 
from the broad street by a wide interval of lawn, with a drive sweep- 
ing past the columned portico. Its northern window's face the culti- 
vated woodland of Lafayette Square, beyond which extends in a straight 
line the thoroughfare of splendid residences, — Sixteenth Street; a 
stretch of near two miles to the summit of the hill. The entire region 
hereabouts is given up to private dwellings, with not a shop or other 
sign of commerce among them. Many of them are nothing less than 
palaces, and are distinguished by names of historic note. But, after 
all, we are on our way to the National Picnic, and have not leisure 
to penetrate the charming mazes of Washington society, — which is, 
upon the whole, the most various and agreeable in this country, and 
perhaps in the world. On a Sunday afternoon you may see the men 
and women who constitute it parading up and down Connecticut Ave- 
nue ; and neither Fifth Avenue nor Rotten Row can show a handsomer 
spectacle of the kind. 

Walking hence eastward along F Street, you may see, at four o’clock, 
the pretty ladies doing their fashionable shopping. After three or four 
blocks the shops come to an end, and the great white stone mass of the 
Patent Office stops the way. A block .south of it is the Post-Office De- 
])artment; and farther east is the huge brick Pension Building, with a 
l)elt of figures sculptured in high relief rnnning clear round it, — the 
Grand Army on its way to Richmond, apparently. Unless you have 
a Puritan conscience, which drives you to investigate details, in order 
that no one may be able to ask you whether you have “ seen” them 
without getting an affirmative answer, you will content yourself with 
an outside glance at the-se imposing structures. It is not intrinsically 
enchanting to see ten thousand male and female clerks stifling at their 
desks from nine o’clock till four. 

In fact, I prefer to leave the city altogether for a while, and get 
aboard a steamer at the wharves for a trip down the Potomac to Monnt 
Vernon. It is something less than twenty miles away, and in fine 
weather it is a pretty trip. Not that the scenery is in any way sensa- 
tional ; there is nothing to compare with the Palisades of the Hudson, 
or with the banks of the Potomac itself, higher up towards its source. 
But here are broad reaches, and quiet shores, and multitudes of little 
boats containing each a couple of fishers of shad. It is a sluggish 
river, as if it had caught the character of the city past which it flows. 


ON THE WAV. 


75 


Six or seven miles clown there is a deserted town, — Alexandria, — a 
curious example of arrested development. In ancient times it was 
associated with the name of the unfortunate Bracldock, and it saw 
something of the red-coats during the War of 1812. It had a com- 



MOUNT VERNON. 


merce that bade fair to make it great; but for some reason it all died 
away, and now it appears almost as abandoned, though by no means so 
picturesque, as the ruins of Thebes or Palmyra. 

It is not an exciting trip, certainly, and the steamer is as full as 
comfort allows, though the nation has been engaged in visiting Mount 


76 


ON THE WAT. 


Vernon for I know not how many generations. It is a handsome 
country-seat enough, well situated on the high bank of tl)e stream, with 
wooded slopes, and a wide outlook over nothing in particular. The 
gallant soldier and honest gentleman who dwelt in it may well have 
enjoyed its secluded peace, after the trials of war and statesmanship. 
Tlie long brick house, painted white, and faced with a veranda extend- 
ing all its length, was a roomy and commodious abode for that epoch, — 
especially as it was used for dwelling purposes alone, all the offices being 
distinct buildings, standing in groups behind it, like a tiny village. 
There are spacious lawns, and some ancient trees (which, however, could 
scarcely have been more than saplings in Washington’s day), and a 
queer old garden with box hedges; but the trouble about the whole 
thing is that it is as much a “show-place” as any dime museum. The 
rooms are protected from approach by gates and barricades, over the 
tops of which the investigating nation cranes an eager neck and gazes 
with interrogative eyes. It sees neatly swept and dusted interiors 
of an antique fashion, like the front parlors of New England village 
houses arranged for company, or still more like those models of rooms 
in the Eden Mus6e and similar places. The resemblance is enhanced 
by the fact that each room, and all the chief objects in it, are conspic- 
uously labelled with their names and any available historical circum- 
stances concerning them : “ This is the Key of the Bastille, presented 
to Washington by Lafayette,” “ This is the bed on which General 
Washington died,” “This is Washington’s Easy-Chair,” etc. Every- 
thing seems unreal ; you doubt the labels’ word. The spectators con- 
verse in low tones, but not always reverentially. The truth is, the 
thing is not dignified. Washington, the man, was as genuine and 
unaffected a fact in his generation as was to be found in the country 
which he rescued from thraldom. There was no label or dime- 
museum atmosphere about him. Would it not have been wise to leave 
the home he lived in to fall gradually into ruin, as do the mighty 
castles of ancient Europe? They retain their dignity so long as one 
stone of them emerges above the turf. Let the place be protected from 
vandalism ; but let Nature have her gentle, immitigable will with it. 
No one believes in Washington a whit the more — rather is he less 
credible — for all this paraphernalia of preservation. Curiosity is the 
noblest sentiment that can be aroused by the existing dispensation. 

Going down the steep descent to the boat-pier, we pause at the 
grated entrance to a vault. Within, on the left, lies a huge sarcopha- 
gus, in which “are contained the remains of George Washington.” I 
remember in Fountain Abbey in England, in the broad nave that lies 
open to the sky, is an open trench lined with stone, in the grassy floor. 
There is no placard on it, to tell whose grave it was; but if you are 
curious enough to inquire, you will learn that in that hole once lay the 
mighty bones of the valiant earl, Harry Hotspur. You can clamber 
down into it and lie there yourself, if you will. Could anything be 
more unpretentious? I am sure nothing could be more august. 

But let it pass: a maturer and truer sentiment will perhaps devise 
some better method of expressing our regard for the mortal habitation 
of the Father of his Country. 


KEATS AND FANNY B . 


77 


The boat bumps against the pier ; we hasten on board (so as to 
secure seats at the lunch-table), and in a few hours here is the beautiful 
city once again. As we pass along the placid streets on our way to the 
railway-station, we meet the wife of the President returning from her 
drive. That square-jawed, lofty-browed man, like an intellectual prize- 
fighter, is the Secretary of the Treasury ; and his tall, pleasant-eyed, 
gray-bearded companion is the Secretary of State. Treading ponder- 
ously along, lion-visaged, heavy-chested, urbane and courteous, the 
British Ambassador goes past. Yonder dapper, blithesome, active 
little gentleman is the representative of the great German Empire; 
and the tall, elegant, elderly courtier of the old school who raises his 
hat with such polished courtesy is the distinguished Baron Fava, the 
Italian Ambassador and the dean of the Diplomatic Corps. Eminent 
men are as common here as ward heelers in New York or stock specu- 
lators in Chicago. The outer barbarians will travel a thousand miles 
to get a glimpse of them ; but the old inhabitant — you may know him 
by that sign — never turns his head as they pass. 

And now we are back again in apparently the same car which we 
left a day (or a week, as the case may be) ago. The road which now 
lies before us is not only one of the most picturesque this side of the 
Mississippi, but it carries us through the heart of a region made mem- 
orable by many of the famous battles of the civil war. No better 
preparation for the Great Picnic could be imagined than this panorama 
of the scenes of a struggle which made the Picnic, and so many other 
good things, possible. Harper’s Ferry opens the story, with its mag- 
nificent bend of river and height of crag; and within shooting-distance 
of a modern big gun is the field of Antietam, where McClellan out- 
fought Lee, till Stonewall Jackson, descrying the smoke of the conflict 
from Bolivar Heights, came down and saved him. And here to the 
south is Winchester, which might serve as Nature’s memorial to Sher- 
idan. Only a few hours distant is the field of Gettysburg, famous 
scarcely more for the great battle itself than for the immortal speech 
which Lincoln deliver^ there while the issue of the war was still in 
doubt. But there is no need to multiply the names that adorn our 
history- and geography-books. The survivors of those great days 
know them but too well, and the younger generations have learned 
them by inheritance as well as by study. 

One cannot say much for the waste of country which lies within 
the boundaries of Ohio and Indiana. But, fortunately, we pass over 
most of it by night. Next morning, behold ! Chicago, and the Great 

Picnic itself. ^ , 

Julian Hawthorne. 


KEATS AND FANNY B . 

A STAR beheld an image in a spring. 

His own beams robed in heavenly vesturing ; 
Out-burned his fire, and faded from the sky. 

The clear earth-rill purled on indifferently. 

Clifford Lanier. 


78 


AN OLD-FASHIONED VIEW OF FICTION. 


AN OLD-FASHIONED VIEW OF FICTION. 

B OURGET, in his novel “ Le Disciple/’ seems to admit that there 
may be danger to individuals and to society in theories spread 
broadcast by people of talent who would only dream of putting them 
in practice. In “ Le Disciple” we have a realistic description of the 
horrible ruin to which a young man and young woman are led by 
trusting to the ideas of an innocent philosopher who wrote out his 
theories of life, never intending that they were to be followed to the 
letter. Bourget leaves out no touch which can accentuate the wretched- 
ness of his climax. It would almost seem as if he were about to take 
sides with those few conservative writers of fiction who believe that 
Julian has not conquered the Galilean, that conscience can still dis- 
tinguish right from wrong, and that anybody is responsible for his 
own acts. But probably Bourget has only done what other logical 
Frenchmen have done, what Hal4vy and Zola have done, — written a 
book on the right side, to show how good he could be, if it were not 
more profitable to be bad. He has, however, opened the way for 
discussion and protest. 

While Americans justly claim that the novelists on whom they 
have put the seal of their approbation are admirably pure, and that 
these novelists spring from America, yet there is a decided tendency 
to read, to talk of, and to circulate the impurest novels written by 
authors on the other side of the sea. One can understand why Ibsen’s 
plays and Tolstoi’s novels should be translated and eagerly read. 
Ibsen and Tolstoi are men of great talent, and their outcries in search 
of some faith which can heal the wounds that a doubting world has 
inflicted on itself find echoes everywhere. Ibsen would make a 
synthesis between the Paganism of Julian and the humaneness of 
Christianity. He takes his microscope and studies the social life of 
his little country of Norway. It is a failure, he thinks, and all Chris- 
tian civilization is a failure, not because men commit sin, — though Ibsen 
might, with Renan, object to that word, — but because men try to 
hide it, and fancy that society is benefited by such concealment. Ibsen 
recommends utter frankness as a remedy for social ills ; but if Mrs. 
Alving, in “Ghosts,” had deserted her husband and proclaimed his 
baseness to the world the moment she found it out, it does not seem 
as if she or society would have been greatly benefited. Similarly, 
the obstreperous doctor, in “ An Enemy of Society,” gained very little 
for the human race by proclaiming that the water of his town was 
polluted before he had given the proper authorities a chance to im- 
prove matters. The trouble is that Ibsen confounds Christianity with 
the state hypocrisy which exists in the kingdom ruled over by the 
clever descendant of Bernadotte. 

Tolstoi, too, is crushed to earth by the weight of a state hypocrisy ; 
step by step he tries to make his way to better things. Unhappily, 
he cries out that he has found light whenever his torch explodes a new 


AN OLD-FASHIONED VIEW OF FICTION. 


79 


globe of miasmatic vapor. In the “ Kreiitzer Sonata” — it is a j>ity 
that such a lovely musical theme should be dragged low by association 
— he dissects an ulcer as old as the world itself. He shows what 
Christ showed when He elevated marriage above the highest Pagan 
ideal, that lust, no matter how garlanded and painted, must end in 
death. And then, as an illogical ruler might try to prevent murders 
by forbidding human creatures to be born, he declares that marriages 
ought not to take place ! 

There is good reason, then, why the works of Ibsen and Tolstoi 
should be read. But it would be hypocritical to pretend that the 
appearance of the “ Kreutzer Sonata” in every railroad-train and on 
nearly every book-stall was due to the fact that Tolstoi is crying out 
for more light and has a soul in travail. It was due to two facts not 
creditable to the American people at large. The book was advertised 
as immoral ; and, in tlie absence of an international copyright law, it 
could be reproduced by anybody who would spend the money necessary 
for composition, press- work, and biiKling. 

For these discreditable reasons the book-stalls were crowded with 
novels whose only claim to notice was that they appealed to a prurient 
— or, rather, an impure — taste. Why was “ Man on Lescaut” revived 
in doubtful English and thrust under every traveller’s nose? The 
English translation could not have any of the charm tliat has made 
the work of the Abb6 Prevost a classic in France. On nearly every 
book-stand, too, was Th6ophile Gautier’s “ Mademoiselle de Maupin” 
done into English, not surely to show the jewel-like style of that neo- 
Pagan, but only — as the newsboy in the train occasionally remarked — 
that the American might have something “spicy.” Mr. George 
Moore’s books were transplanted, and offered publicly to boys and 
young girls. There have been many protests on the part of the literary 
artists against the habit of considering the modesty of the young in 
the writing of novels. But is there any literary artist, the father of 
young girls, who would advise the indiscriminate circulation of Mr. 
George Moore’s books? or of “Mademoiselle de Maupin”? or of 
Zola’s novels, even with such pleasant tributes to propriety as some of 
the translators of “ La Terre” have offered ? 

Sir Walter Scott did not lose anything by his regard for the decen- 
cies. It is not required of the novelist that he should treat habitually 
the phase of life which Ibsen touches in “Ghosts” or Daudet in 
“Kings in Exile.” The novelists who have taken no account of the 
old-fashioned sentiment of modesty have flaunted at every cross-roads 
during the past summer; and the public taste is much the worse for 
it. Bourget is right: evil teaching even prettily expressed may produce 
ruin. 


Maurice Francis Egan. 


80 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 



THE AUDITORIUM. STUDEBAKER BUILDING. ART INSTITUTE. 

T he architecture of Chicago has a quality of its own tliat places it 
quite apart from any other architecture yet produced in America. 
And this distinctiveness does not come from a development of the 
grotesque and the marvellous, as is sometimes the case with older and 
more staid communities, nor from an effort to force previous styles and 
forms of art to conform to the requirements of a swiftly-growing city, 
but from a simple application of ordinary common sense to the problem 
at hand, a keen realization of the province of the architect in com- 
mercial structures, and the courage to meet the conditions without 
regard to tradition or precedent. However much the good folk of 
Chicago may be disposed to exaggerate the importance of their great 
city, it is hardly possible for them to place too high an estimate on 
its recent architectural development, for throughout the length and 
breadth of our land there is not a more characteristic group of struc- 
tures, frankly and fully expressive of modern needs, life, and achieve- 
ments, than the high buildings of Chicago, the “ sky-scrapers” of the 
West, the laughing-stock of foreign birds of passage, the mo.st talked- 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


81 


of buildings in America, yet the least understood, the least appreciated, 
and, beyond their immediate limits, the least known. 



THE MASONIC TEMPLE. 


He laughs best who laughs last. The unthinking critic who gives 
no thought to the actual conditions of modern architecture may hm 
somewhat to amuse him in the vast bulk of Chicago s newest struc- 
tures, but it requires only the simplest insight into the nature o le 
VoL. LI1.-6 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


82 

problem they attempt to solve to realize how poor tliat wit is which 
finds faults with buildings because they cannot be other than they are. 
The high office-building is now an admitted factor in municipal archi- 
tecture. Business life tends more and more to concentration every day, 
especially in a city like Chicago, where the business district is con- 
fined by natural features within very narrow limits. The high build- 
ing, in its origin, is an attempt to multiply a given area without going 
beyond it, and hence it has a well-defined and necessary part to take 
in the economy of current life. But it is one thing to imagine a high 



THE AUDITORIUM, LAKE FRONT. 


building, and a very different thing to design a proper fa9ade for it, 
and still more different and vastly more difficult to design a satisfactory 
fa9ade. Our Eastern cities show no end of fa9ades for high buildings. 
Every possible architectural combination, reminiscence, form, style, 
epoch, and method is pressed into service, resulting in an amazing and 
rich variety the like of which has scarce been seen before in the history 
of architecture. 

The Chicago architect has followed a very different course: he 
recognizes the almost utter impossibility of forming a “ fa9ade” for the 
high building in the regulation fashion. A basement, superstructure, 
and frieze become meaningless and absurd when stretched over a height 
of two hundred feet. The grouping of windows, the massing of walls, 
the expedients of previous architects, are out of place in a structure in 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


83 


which every inch is of value, that can have no projection beyond the 
building-line, and that must have as much light and air from without 
as are consistent with the stability of the enclosing walls. This is the 







1 " A . 







THE AUDITORIUM HOTEL LOBBY, LOOKING TOWARDS THE READING-ROOM. 


problem every architect has to solve in a business building; these are 
the conditions that underlie the architecture of every busy city, and 
conditions harsh and unyielding in their rigidity, which neither the 
mightiest of political “ pulls” nor the greatest wealth can overcome. 



84 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


The architect has nothing but a straight line to work on : he can- 
not go beyond it, for the law forces him back ; he cannot go behind it, 
for there is his client with his rent-figures warning him that every 
inch wasted witliin that line is so much money out of pocket. These 
conditions exist in Eastern cities as well as Western, but the Western 



THE MANHATTAN BUILDING. 


method of meeting them is as different from the Eastern as it is more 
successful. Generally speaking, Chicago fa9ades are unbroken, with 
few vertical or horizontal projections, manly, frank expressions of the 
necessities of the structures that gain characteristic dignity from the 
vast extent over which a few and simple elements are spread. For 


CHIC A 00 A RCHITECTURE. 


85 


Chicago buildings are big in every way. Tliey are broad as well as 
high, occupying lots that bear a relative proportion to the heights of 
the structures erected upon them, though perhaps not intentionally so. 
A broad high fa5ade has a dignity wanting in a narrow high one, and 
this, almost the only favorable condition in Chicago architecture, gives 
its buildings their real merit, and renders them superior as works of 
architecture to similar buildings in the East. 

Imagine, if it is possible, a fa9ade of which the main portion is 
twenty-five windows wide and twelve windows high, three hundred 
windows all alike, all perfectly plain, without ornament of any kind, 
not even grouped in twos, and you can, perhaps, form some conception 
of a typical Chicago fa9ade. .1 say perhaps, yet it is really impossible 
to do so, and even drawings and photographs fail to convey an idea 
of the actual appearance and merit of the buildings. The particular 
fa9ade I have selected as typical is that of the new Masonic Temple, 
eighteen stories high, and with a front of one hundred and seventy 
feet. If it required great originality and boldness to design a front so 
entirely wanting in everything popularly deemed essential in a fa9ade, 
it required not less boldness and faith in the architects for a building 
committee to accept it. Few buildings are so utterly unsatisfactory 
and disappointing in any kind of reproduction as this; few are so 
thoroughly satisfactory and impressive in the reality. It is the quality 
of mass, the feeling of immensity, that is so admirably marked in this 
front, without a single part or feature that is unessential, with no 
horizontal lines save the unrelieved and unconnected lines of the 
window-openings, and with no vertical lines except some insignificant 
piers and a series of shallow bay-windows, so shallow and slight as 
hardly to break the repose of the design. 

Chicago has many buildings in which these ideas are employed 
and in which the success of this simple treatment is equally marked. 
Necessarily these structures have a somewhat striking similarity to 
one another, but hardly more than will be found in the individual work 
of any architect anywhere when he is permitted to follow his own 
peculiar style. And as very many of the newer office-buildings have 
been designed in this fashion, it may be taken as the typical Chicago 
form, for style it is not in the sense of the historical styles of architec- 
ture. They are numerous enough to make them characteristic of 
Chicago, though confined to a relatively small area of Ciiicago’s terri- 
tory, and thus the Western metropolis may truly be said to have been 
the first American city to evolve a characteristic treatment of architec- 
ture, a treatment, the rest of the world cannot be too thankful, ex- 
tremely satisfying to the eye, and thoroughly adapted to the conditions 
to be filled. 

I am quite aware that the estimate I have formed of Chicago 
architecture is not that generally reached by those who have expressed 
an opinion on it, but Chicago buildings have been made the laughing- 
stock of the world because opinions have been ventured without the 
slightest attempt to comprehend the circumstances that have made them 
what they are. Naturally enough, the architecture of Chicago, while 
not unknown in the East, is not appreciated. People hear of it as 


86 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


something big, look at it as something big, and see nothing but the 
bigness of it. Of course this is one of its characteristic qualities ; but 
Chicago buildings are big because there is reason for it, and, which is 
very much more to the point, they are treated in a manner suitable to 





THE TEMPLE. 


their size. The fronts are not made to seem other than what they are ; 
there is no made ornamentation, simply tlie frank admission of the 
architect that nothing can be obtained from these gigantic walls save 
the inherent dignity of simple mass. 

But it must not be supposed because Chicago architects have adopted 




CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


87 


plain unoruainented fa9iides for their buildings that they are incaj)able 
of producing good decorative effects or are deficient in understanding 
the more artistic side of architecture. In the Auditorium Building, 
the greatest wonder of Chicago, the mightiest of her big buildings, 
the most stupendous product of the architecture of the West, Chicago 
has one of the most splendidly decorated edifices in America. Not 
outwardly, for its immense granite fronts, absolutely devoid of carving 
or ornament of any kind, scarcely relieved by the slight arcade carried 
around the superstructure, give no indication of the work within. It 
was consummate art to give the exterior the beauty of structure only, 
reserving the ornamental art for the interior. It is a building that 
cannot be studied in a day nor reviewed in a paragraph. Few struc- 
tures have been so carefully and consistently dec*orated, and the theatre, 
the banqueting-hall, and parts of the hotel may justly be ranked 
among the most successful work of the kind in America. Architects 
that can produce such work as this need not care for the witless jokes 
that have been made upon the architecture of their city. 

The Temple, as the building recently erected by the Women’s 
Christian Temperance Union is called, offers an interesting contrast to 
the Masonic Temple, because, though by the same architects, it repre- 
sents different principles of design. An attempt lias been made, and 
with great success, owing to the large area of ground covered, to pro- 
duce a fajade. The two corner pavilions and the deeply-recessed 
central portion, all in rich red brick, offer as great a difference to the 
light-buff plain front of the Masonic Temple as could be imagined. 
It is one of the most picturesque and ambitious buildings in Chicago, 
and, of its kind, one of the most successful. 

The Rookery scarcely appears to be one of the largest office-build- 
ings in the country, — which it is, — because, as in many Chicago build- 
ings, it has the great advantage of a broad front and side. No better 
example could be had of the good effects a large and very high build- 
ing may produce if all its parts are proportioned to its altitude. In 
the East, it is not unusual for a high building to be so narrow, and 
especially if on a corner, as to seem but a slice of an intended structure. 
There is nothing of this in The Rookery : its breadth and depth are 
exactly what its height requires. The front is broken by a slightly 
projecting bay, modelled sufficiently to break the raotonony of an 
otherwise unrelieved wall without being obtrusive. The wall is 
divided into five divisions equally well modelled, and very well serving 
the same purpose of relief. 

The Phoenix Building has many of the same qualities, though 
lacking the depth of The Rookery. An archway in the middle of the 
central pavilion is the chief element of the lower part of the design. 
Above, and at each end, are slightly projecting bow-windows, which 
alone form the feature of the end fa9ades. These, with the main arch- 
way, are the chief ornamental parts of the structure, and are not only 
rich and beautiful in themselves, but fine examples of what may be 
accomplished in a large business sti-ucture by limiting the decorations to 
a few important features, leaving the larger portion of the building to 
express the utilitarian purposes to which it is put. 



88 CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 

Less successful from an artistic stand-point, tliougli, like the last 
two edifices, not among the most recent buildings of Chicago, is the 
Chamber of Commerce, a building, though the name does not imply it, 
devoted entirely to business offices. The walls have almost entirely 


THE ROOKERY. 

disappeared, and are represented oidy by a few heavy piers. Both 
fronts, in fact, above the basement, are composed of a series of windows 
separated in the slightest manner possible, a much less satisfactory 
method than that of placing the windows in an ap])reciable amount 
of wall. It is, perhaps, scarcely just to either building to place the 
Chamber of Commerce in comparison with The Tacoma, yet this latter 


CHIC A GO A RCHITECTVRE. 


89 


structure illustrates some of the advantages which come from wall 
spaces and grouping of parts that are wanting in the other. The 
design ot The Tacoma is a series of alternating bow-windows and flat 



PHCENIX BUILDING. 


\vall, the former being the most important feature in the design. The 
chief ornamental effect comes, however, not from them, but from the 
open galleries at their tops and a series of ornamental string courses 
carried across the building. The elements are very simple and repeated 





90 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


almost indefinitely ; there is no overcrowding of detail and no monot- 
ony. The building clearly expresses its purpose, and when a structure 
does this it is hard to ask for more. 

The newer office-buildings can fairly be taken as typical of the city. 



CHAMBER OF COMMERCE. 


The simple fa9ades, plain walls broken only by windows, are more 
successful than those in which some attempt has been made to make a 
fa9ade. All new Chicago buildings are not mere walls ; admirable as 



CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


91 


those examples are in which tliis system has been adopted, it has not 
become universal, while, as it is very new, there are many large build- 
ings in which it has not l)een employed. Yet even where some free- 
dom of arrangement has been permitted there is a most judicious 



THE TACOMA. 


suppression of ornament. In the Manhattan Building, which, like the 
Masonic Temple, is one of the newest of Chicago business buildings, 
some attempt has been made by means of bow-windows and string 
courses, and the elevation of the central portion a number of stories 


92 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


above tlie wings at the side, to vary the monotony of the fa9ade. But 
tliere is the absence of ornament wdiich is characteristic of the city’s 
latest edifices. Like others of its class, it renders it impossible for us 
to forget that Chicago architecture is a business architecture, a plain 
American architecture in which there is no room for wasteful fancies. 
Ornament is employed sparsely or reserved for interiors. 

Unfortunately, all Chicago buildings are not admirable, nor are 
^they all designed in wdiat I have called the true Chicago style. Nothing 
could be less so tlian the City and County Building, designed on the 
most singular of Chicago ideas, that two separate corporations, though 
occupying the same structure, should employ each a distinct architect 
for its owm portion. There are miles and miles of streets that cannot 



THE CITY AND COUNTY BUM. DING. 


be equalled for dulness in the East. This is especially so in the 
burned districts, where a fondness for iron and the imitation of iron in, 
stone has produced most dismal results. Recent as these buildings are, 
they are not the Chicago buildings of 1893. In no instance has the 
phenomenal growth of the city been better manifested than in the con- 
trast, these older structures offer to the newer. The tide of change 
and progress, swifter in Chicago than in Eastern cities, is taking away 
these memorials of an un architectural age and replacing them with 
the splendid monuments produced by the Chicago architects of to-dav. 
Every developed form has its primitive stage, but it is scarcely shoVt 
of marvellous that with such a primitive stage Chicago should have 
obtained so complete an evolution in so short a time. 


CHICAGO ARCHITECTURE. 


93 


Dvvelling-liouses can be less readily referred to a single type than 
offices and similar structures, and it is quite to be expected that the 
residences of Chicago should offer every variety of good, bad, and 
indifferent. Yet just as there has been a marked change for the better 
in the business buildings, so there has been a change in the dwellings. 
The newer ones cannot all be classed as good, but they indicate a 
wholesome improvement in architectural taste. A distinctive feature 
of the Chicago residence districts is the semi-detached house. In this 
respect it offers a great contrast to the residence portions of both New 
York and Philadelphia, in which it is no unusual thing — though less 
usual now than formerly — to find the fa9ades of dwellings stretched over 



RESIDENCE OF MR. F. W. PECK. 


distances of hundreds of feet. In Chicago the semi-detached house is 
the typical residence; there are fewer rows of houses and moie in- 
dividuality than will be found in any other city of its size. And when 
it is remembered that much of this newer work is well worth study 
and is highly successful architecturally, it becomes apparent how ricii 
Chicago is in architectural monuments. 

Chicago may well pride herself on her architectural achievements. 
Placed upon soil scarcely stable enough to support the weight of an 
ordinary dwelling, she lias produced the largest office-buildings in 
America, developed a characteristic type of structure, carried to a 
high degree of perfection a new system of construction, and begun 
an architectural revolution that will powerfully affect the art in this 


94 


RELEASED. 


country. No other American city can claim such a record, and it is 
not the least glory of the whole that the artistic results are as satisfac- 
tory as they are characteristic. Granted that the bad buildings of the 
city outnumber the good, the latter are already so numerous and are so 
entirely part and parcel of Chicago as really to represent its present archi- 
tectural spirit. And this spirit is thoroughly business-like, thoroughly 
comprehensive of the complicated problems which hedge in and bind 
the architect at every turn. Chicago buildings are not palaces, they 
are not highly ornamental edifices, they are not wonders of decorative 
skill nor miracles of gingerbread appendages. They are calm business 
structures, designed for business, used for business, and admirable be- 
cause the business motive is so evident. If tliey are plain it is because 
there is reason for the plainness, not because their architects cannot 
design good ornament nor because decorative structures are not ap- 
preciated. They must be judged for what they are, not what they are 
not nor what they might have been. Those who want palaces for 
their places of business should not find fault with the people of Chicago 
because they are wiser and reserve their palatial work for palatial 
structures or some public building like the Auditorium. The build- 
ings of Chicago form one of the most distinctive and remarkable and 
successful products of American arcliitecture, and it will be a decided 
step in advance when we in the East learn to appreciate them better 
and take them as models for similar structures for ourselves. 

At last America has buildings worth going a thousand miles to see, 
and the traveller who sets forth from New York on his first Western 
tour will find in the buildings of Chicago some examples of a new 
form of architecture, a more sensible and more business-like treatment 
than he will find at home. The least impressive of the lessons he 
takes away with him will not be the one he gains from the study of 
Chicago’s new buildings. 

Barr Ferree. 


RELEASED. 

R oaring and turbulent, rushing away. 

Rapids exuberant dancing in play, 

Torrent triumphant, upleaping in spray. 

Forth from the silence where long it has lain, * 

Down from the mountains, through snow-covered jfiain. 
Swift as a captive just bursting his chain. 

On towards the glorious, all- welcoming sea. 

Singing exultant, “ The river is free !” — 

Opening strain of the Spring’s jubilee. 

Mary Isabella Forsyth. 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 


95 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 

[lippincott’s notable stories.— no. V,*] 

E very work-day of the year, capitalist Clyve, walking down-town 
after breakfast to make some more money, passed the blind beg- 
gar stationed at the corner. Rarely did it befall the eminent financier 
to be late in the appointed time when he left his front door or arrived 
at his office. He permitted scarcely any stress of weather to compel 
him to the luxury of his carriage and lose him the morning air and 
exercise. To see him inside the coupe driving to his business was (I 
had almost said) a better sign than barometers of the excesses which 
the elements were committing. Among the citizens that each morning 
streamed down the pavement, steering towards their trades, none re- 
ceived more salutes than he as he marched along. He counted no 
friends, to be sure, nor yet any enemies that I ever heard of ; but the 
judicious community paid him its deference as the master of a widely- 
known and powerful bank-account. If an acquaintance stopped him 
in his course, as occasionally happened, he listened to what the man 
had to say, without any sign of impatience, moving two gloved fingers 
slowly over his white, smooth moustache. Yet the acquaintance, even 
as he spoke, became aware that another time than this would be better 
for speaking, and he soon wished good-morning to the capitalist, and 
went his way, chilled by an interview in which he had nevertheless 
received only careful attention and civil answers. So it happened that 
punctuality in all habits (the capitalist had none but good ones) had 
kept his more than middle-aged machinery in unswerving order ; and 
his well-dressed person was illuminated by the clean radiance of health. 

The never-varied route of capitalist Clyve took him out of Chest- 
nut Street into Sixth by the court-houses, and across the Square diag- 
onally ; and each morning he reached this point while the dim delib- 
erate tones of the clock in the State-House sounded the hour of ten high 
up in the calm above the trees. The voice of Time could not speak 
more quietly than the utterance of that bell, whose sustained vibra- 
tions seemed to have no part in the rattle and transient haste of the 
streets below; but at that stately influence the doors of banks opened, 
the din of stocks and bonds arose, and in the court-houses Justice her- 
self emerged from invisible privacy, and took seat upon her bench to 


* With the March number began the issue of this series of short stories, 
one of which is to appear each month during the current year. On the com- 
pletion of the series the stories will be reprinted in a small volume, and the 
royalty on the sale of this book will belong to the author of that one of the 
ten tales which receives the popular verdict. 

To determine this choice, our readers are invited to signify each month, by 
postal card addressed to the editor of Lippincott’s Magazine, their opinions as to 
the merits of the short story in the last issue. Those who thus report as to each 
of the ten tales, from March to December inclusive, will receive, free of charge, 
a copy of the collected edition of “ Notable Stories.” 


90 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 



hear plaintiff and defendant in the Coiumon Pleas. Thus through the 
weeks and years while the city’s marshalled energies quickened into 
activity each day at the strokes of the bell, capi- 
talist Clyve crossed Independence Square, and 
as the tolling ceased came face 
to face with the blind man at 
the corner. 

On the rounded curb 
where Fifth and Walnut 
meet is a fire-plug, oppo- 
site the short flight of 
steps leading from the 
Square down into the 
highway; and against 
this support the blind 
man stood. His blank, 
lean face was generally 
turned towards the steps, 
fixed in the exjwession of 
perpetual waiting ; but 
when people passed, his 
face followed them 
till they were gone 
from the neigh- 
borhood of its ajj- 
peal, and his hand 
that held a bunch 
of pencils moved 
outward from his 
• , - ' body. There must 
have been some 
that stopped and 
bought or gave, 
for as season followed season the blind man stood there always until 
noon, when a little girl came and guided him away. And as capitalist 
Clyve came down the steps each week-day morning, to him also the face 
of the beggar monotonously turned and Ids hand moved, although the 
years had taught his acute sense that, whatever man this was who came 
at the striking of ten, it was not a customer and never had been. Mr. 
Clyve surveyed the blind man and his pencils with the same brief 
sufficient glance with which he noted all things, and he was soon seated 
in his office, opening letters and growing richer. ' 

One day in the beginning of winter this meeting between two citi- 
zens of Philadelphia was varied by the presence of a third. Mr. 
Cly ve’s unmarried daughter, who kept house for him, came down-town 
with her father to sign some papers relating to her own fortune. 

Seeing her pause on the pavement, he inquired why, and Miss 
Clyve, taking out her purse, indicated the figure that silently con- 
fronted them. Hearing voices near him, the blind man held out his 
poor bundle of wares. But the capitalist, saying that it was not safe 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 


97 


to stand in the freezing wind, had taken his daughter on with him 
down the street, replying to her remonstrances that they would discuss 
the question of encouraging beggars at a more suitable time. 

Miss Clyve, listening to these words, turned her head once to look 
back at the motionless figure on the corner. The hand was now drawn 
back against the long meagre coat, for the wind was sending a hard 
dust hissing over the cobble-stones among the sparrows. 

“ He looks so patient !” she sighed ; and her eyes filled with tears. 

Her father, though indifferent to all other adverse opinion, was not 
quite so to hers ; perhaps because she still lived in his handsome lonely 
house and sat at his table whence the rest of his children as they 
married one by one had gone. He saw in her face unassenting distress ; 
and after the papers were signed he wl)eeled his chair round and asked 
if she made a custom of giving alms indiscriminately. For this (he 
explained) was not intelligent or helpful charity. Pauperism was a 
clog to the common welfare, and giving in the street at best only pro- 
longetl lives that ought to cease. The needs of the deserving poor 
were met amply by a number of institutions. There was the Chari- 
table Aid League, in which he was director. The board met once a 
month, and he audited the accounts. There was the Co-operative 
Relief, of which he was vice-president. The function of these bodies 
had his approval, and in his will he had made them liberal bequests. 
They investigated the honesty of each application for assistance, finding 
work for respectable cases, and turning away the swarm of professional 
beggars who make a living by false appeals to the sympathy of kind 
but thoughtless people. 

During this, his daughter seemed about to speak once or twice, but 
Mr. Clyve quietly waved his hand and continued : 

Beggars well knew of the institutions ready to help them, and 
being in the street was evidence they preferred that life. Therefore to 
put a coin into the hands of such was not kindness, but thwarting the 
organized charities of the city, and tended to increase the evil of men- 
dicancy. “ I have been a student of all this,” said capitalist Clyve, 
“ and that is why I lend my name and time to the Co-operative Relief, 
where charity is intelligent, and not a mere whim of the heart. That 
man at the corner pretends to sell pencils; he is really begging. I 
have noticed the pencils never grow fewer. But such tricks deceive 
people like yourself.” 

“ Why, have you seen him often ?” inquired Miss Clyve, surprised. 

“Every day, I think, for several years.” 

“ For several years !” 

“He began to stand there, if I remember, in”— (Mr. Clyve com- 
puted for a moment) — “ yes, somewhere in the late seventies,” he con- 
cluded. Ill- M 

“And, father, you have never stopped ? never once asked him 

Miss Clyve’s voice died away. 

“What should I ask him? Certainly not. It is obvious what 

he’s doing there.” ^ n i-i 

“And you have not even spoken a word ! When it was cold, like 
to-day, you’ve said nothing. His being there winter and summer has 
VoL, LII.— 7 


98 


THE REPRIEVE OF' CAPITALIST CLYVE. 



some stormy weather, or when Christmas Indeed, father, I am 

sorry for you.” Miss Clyve rose and left the room. 

Capitalist Clyve sat still in his chair. 

“ Women !” said he, aloud, after a time, and turned to the day’s 
affairs. These, to-day, were only the signing his name some hundr^s 
of times upon bonds relating to a transaction in water-frontage at the 
terminal town of Everett, on Puget Sound. The- radiator burdened 
the room with heat, and, throwing open a window, he sat down to his 
long mechanical task. It was strange his daughter should be so un- 
reasonable. Bond after bond passed under his hand, and the pen swept 
free, writing his neat familiar name. The Great Northern was making 
a good thing out of this Everett business. And so was he. What- 
ever Seattle did, nothing touched him. He laid the pen down. It 
had been woman through and through, that performance. Sorry for 
him? Where did she suppose the community would land, if every 
man must be supported by some one else? He owed his success to 
himself, and he helped half a dozen good causes by lending them his 


nqt made you wonder what his life might be. You don’t know how 
he came to be blind. You don’t know if he has children. You have 
gone by every day. I — I” — Miss Clyve faltered — I should have 
thought,” she resumed, “that at least some time through the year, in 


“AND, FATHER, YOU HAVE NEVER STOPPED?” 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 99 

name and experience. ^ As for stopping and asking a beggar questions 
about his family capitalist Clyve laughed as he got up and shut the 
window. She should see his point in the evening. Meanwhile, as he 
resumed signing the bonds, her reproaches irked liim. He wrote more 
slowly, for his hand had grown cold. 

After a time he went to the radiator, 
for the window had been open too 
long. He ate the lunch they brought 
him, and grew drowsy, signing no 
more bonds, but dozing in his 
chair. 

He came out of his steam-hot 
office about half-past four, and 
reached the bleak corner of the 
Square where the blind 
man had stood. He 
stopped by the de- 
serted place and . \ 

stared at it. The 

current of citizens that 
in the morning had 
flowed one way steadily 
until down-town 
brimmed with its flood 
of money-hunters had 
now set the other way; 
for the tide of trade was on 
tlie ebb, and in its quiet 
power presidents, treiisu- , 
rers, managers, attorneys, 
cashiers, and clerks streamed 
homeward up the street, capitalist clyve sat still in his chair. 

beneatli the narrow vista 

of sky, towards the red of the deadening west. Across Independence 
Square through the faint wintry violet of the trees shone the State- 
House clock, behind whose dial and gilded numerals the lamp was 
already lighted. A chill came up from the pavement through the body 
of the capitalist. He turned up the collar of his prosperous overcoat, 
and walked on, wishing for his carriage. It was extraordinarily cold. 
At Broad Street he stopped at the saloon near Chestnut, and stayed 
.some time in the warmth, eying the big luxurious paintings; but the 
liquor seemed only to increase the metallic taste in his mouth without 
driving away the dulness in his head and bones. He sat gloomy and 
not eating at dinner; and when his daughter kissed him good-night 
she found his forehead burning dry ; but he told her he should sleep 
this off. 

He lay in bed with his eyes wide open, listening to the various 
distant noises that came from across the silence of the town. He 
had never noticed before how curious this silence was. It entered his 
room and brought the blind man’s corner and the dial among the trees. 



100 the reprieve of capitalist clyve. 

He moved his head, and the picture burst like a bubble, leaving him a 
fear lest it should come back. But he felt it could not so long as he 
heard his watch ticking. That now seemed louder than usual. Prob- 
ably the works needed oiling. He would take tlie watch to be cleaned 
to-morrow, for it was too loud ; it made almost a musical note. At 
least there was something in it that hummed, or sounded with a back- 
ward and forward vibration. It must be the spiral ribbon of metal 
opening and shutting. He could not sleep with this. Would harm 
come to the watch if he stopped it? It must be stopped, for the spiral 
note was growing worse, like waves. He crossed the room to where 
the watch lay, and, opening it, held his finger against the turning 
wheel. He let it loose, and the wheel went on, and the spiral sang 
loud and soft. Something must go between the spokes, as soon as he 
could get out of this heat. A furnace-blast was coming from the 
register in the wall ; however, the sheets were cool. The match 
splinter in the wheel must have fallen out when he put the watch 
under his pillow, for it was going again. He shut his eyes, and saw 
immediately a continent of light. Opening them, he found the light 
was beating and gleaming in the core of his brain — or was it the 
watch-spiral that pulsed fierce and dim by turns? He would leave it 
at the jeweller’s, only there was not time now. It was too hot, and he 
must get to the Square before the clock struck ten. The machinery in 
the tower was clicking and going, but he could go faster. He could 
reach the Square before that wheel which was humming came round 
to the notch. Here was the Square, all turned black as night. He 
came in sight of the great lighted dial, giant-high, like an eye watching 
him, and the bell clanged. The blind man came up the steps and laid 
a hand on his wrist, as trees. Square, and town fell away into annihi- 
lation. 

He was on a wide road, led by the beggar in silence. Countless 
thousands met and passed him, and behind them countless more to 
come. He looked to either side and saw only thronged immensity. 
The blind man led him slowly forward always, where lay the wide 
road without a turn, and more multitudes approaching along it. They 
went for a great while so, and at last he dared to speak. 

“ Who are these?” 

But no answer came. 

“ What is this place?” 

Still there was no answer, because down in his soul he knew he 
needed no answer. These were the dead, and this was eternity. His 
day upon earth was done, and he must find some question to which his 
own soul did not know the answer. 

He looked again at the multitudes, and saw their faces were differ- 
ent. Some were darkened with despair, while others close beside them 
shone with happiness. The ones beat their breasts, raising murmurings 
and wails, and even clutched those others, who turned their peaceful 
faces uncomprehendingly. 

He^ wondered at this j but soon his soul knew that some were 
mourning over their irretrievable sin, while others had attained salva- 
tion, and that all were in the same vast place together. Yet the joyful 


THE REPRIEVE OF CAPITALIST CLYVE. 


101 


ones could not know the sorrow of their companions : so, even as they 
walked side by side, good and bad were eternally separate. 

Which am I?’’ thought the soul of capitalist Clyve. He walked 
onward, looking at the faces that passed. After a time he asked, 
“ When shall this be decided for me ?” 

“ It has been decided,” the blind man answered. 

Once again capitalist Clyve looked at the faces of the multitude, and 
every face showed clearly the spiritual hue of its eternity, bright or 
dark ; and every mouth spoke words of bitter remorse or of humble 
thanks. Loneliness came upon him. 

Which way ?” he said. 

No answer came, and they walked in silence along the wide, straight 
road. An anxiety began to stir in him ; he feared this road might be 
without end. As he looked, he saw that sometimes the sorrowful ones 
held the hands of their fellow-mourners and seemed to weep also for 
them, and that those who rejoiced found companions in gladness. 

“ Am I not to know my eternity?” he moaned, in bitter loneliness. 

And then the blind man spoke. 

“ When the cloak of flesh,” he said, “ is taken from our souls, then 
for the first time we see them, beautiful or ugly, as we have made them. 
Till then, our self-love, and the glitter of the world, a too great pride, 
and sometimes even a too great humility, prevent our seeing the eternal 
shape the soul is taking under the choice we daily make between good 
and evil. But when we die and can choose no more, we see that shape 
unerringly, and then, helpless to think or speak anything but truth, 
we become the awful judges of ourselves. So is the decision made, and 
thus also has your doubt been your decision. In your youth you did 
not follow vice, because you were determined not to hamper your race 
to fortune. Therefore you did no wrong then. But do you find any 
virtue in abstaining from one thing to get another which was equally 
only for yourself? As you dealt with your fellow-men none ever suf- 
fered from your dealings ; but can you remember a man for whom you 
ever made a sacrifice? You reared your children with care; but did 
they learn to love you? You have left much of your fortune to hos- 
pitals and charity. Since we can take nothing out of the world, what 
did that cost you ? You were a member of bodies that brought relief 
to the poor; still, it was at no pains to yourself, for it was not you who 
entered humble roofs or watched by sick-beds. In all your life you 
never turned aside from your own ends once to stretch your hand in 
pity. You have not worked harm in the world. Therefore you enter 
vour eternity without fear, indeed, but also without hope. These faces 
liere that speak joy or sorrow have made you wonder what you speak. 
Your own life has earned you that uncertainty, and you shall walk for- 
ever alone in it, and forever moving among these others, yet sharing in 
neither their comfort nor their despair.” 

At these words capitalist Clyve trembled, and asked if there was no 
ref)rieve. But the beggar was silent. He caught the beggar’s hand. 
“ It is not true !” he cried out, in an agony ; “ there is one, indeed there 
is one I love besides myself.” 

“ One who loves you ?” the beggar said. 


102 


ROSE-LEA VES. 



In spite of all, yes!” groaned the other. “She does love me. I 
have not deserved it, but she will come. Tell her to come here and 
speak for me. She is there — among the crowd — she hears me 1” 


HE CAUGHT THE BEGGAR’S HAND. 


The capitalist clung to his guide in wild appeal, and found he was 
holding his daughter’s hand as she leaned over his bed with her tearful 
face. 

Blackness again surrounded him, and he heard a voice say at a great 
distance, “ He will sleep now. The corner is turned.” 

When, after his illness, capitalist Clyve was able for the first time 
to walk slowly down-town, he went through Independence Square and 
came upon the blind man. He paused, and then crossed the pavement 
to the patient figure. 

“ God bless you, sir !” said the beggar. “ I’ve known your step 

these many years.” „ ^ 

•' Owen Wister. 


ROSE-LEAVES. 

T he perfume of these dead, brown leaves 
Is like the memories which cling 
About some men, — whose goodly sheaves 
Are not of Death’s keen harvesting. 

Flavel Scott Mines. 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


103 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OM^ES TO ITALY. 

A FRIEND engaged in business, to whom I stated my design to 
write upon the above topic, said to me, “ Don’t forget to mention 
that not only our community but the whole world owes to Italy the 
invention of the double-entry system of book-keeping, a science that 
has done as much for the interests of civilization as any other, astronomy 
not excepted.” My friend, warming with the theme, continued, “ The 
theory of balances, of the mutually counteracting forces and conditions 
of debit and credit, involving the logical conclusion that debts are 
never paid, but are simply counteracted and forever held in check by 
credits, which are debts tending in an oj>posite direction, — the theory 
that profit and loss are really but different aspects of the same fact, and 
therefore are always to be coupled on the same page of the ledger, 
being, in short, as distinct an entity as any person or firm with whom 
we have an account, — these and other statements of financial relation 
the world of business owes to the masterful subtlety of the Italian 
mind, than which no national intellectual power has ever been more 
memorable or distinguished.” 

This was a merchant, who prompted me not to omit mention of the 
gift of the science of accounts from Italy to the world. What would 
the musician say as to Italy’s largess of music? the artist, as to painting 
and sculpture? the devotee, as to religious culture? the legist, as to 
civil law ? the soldier, as to war ? the scholar, as to classical literature ? 
And we who live on this side of the planet cannot forget, especially in 
a year when the event is to be signalized by great fairs and naval re- 
views, that one native of Italy discovered America, and that another 
native of Italy has lent the continent his name probably in perpetuity. 
What the world, and what the United States, owe to Italy, therefore, 
can never be adequately summed up. Such transmissions of cultiva- 
tion and moral and intellectual power cannot be tabulated, like lists of 
exports of silk, wine, and oil. But the brief mention already made, 
mere discursive hints at best, indicates that in the sisterhood of nations 
Italv is not only an elder but a most benevolent and useful sister, and 
that only very shallow and ignorant people are so unmindful of truth 
as to speak of her as an extinct factor in the modern world, or of her 
population by the unmeaning and contemptuous title of “dagoes.” 

Let us see who the Italians of to-day are, what their ancestry was, 
and what it has done, before we ascertain the extent of the obligations 
of the United States to modern Italy. 

The Italian historian Livy, born in Padua (Patavinum) and dating 
his history at Rome, is studied in all the schools of Italy above the 
grade of the primary schools of the common people. It is not pe- 
dantic, therefore, to quote him. He says at the outset that it is quite 
evident that at once after the capture of Troy many of its inhabitants, 
^neas among others, sailed westward and landed upon the western 
shore of Italy, not far from the spot where Rome was afterwards built. 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


104 

This much I learned at school, and thousands of lads are every day 
all over Europe and America learning the same fact from the same 
historian. I have since been told that the German Niebuhr has de- 
molished most of the statements made by Livy, and it is not doubtful 
that he has demolished the tales of miracles and prodigies which the 
historian so liberally scattered through his pages. Even school-boys 
hardly believed in Numa’s Egeria, or in the chasm of the Roman 
Forum that could be closed only by the sacrifice of a gallant horse- 
man : we have even questioned the evidences as to Lucretia, Horatius 
Codes, and other famous personages, the recitals of whose exploits 
sound like romances, and probably are nothing else. But much truth 
was told at the same time. There certainly was a Hannibal ; some- 
body certainly founded Rome; and if the universal belief of two thou- 
sand years ago was that this was not the work of the original natives 
or aborigines, the Samnites, Etruscans, etc., this belief was probably 
nearer the truth than any hypothesis which we at this late day can 
construct. 

Livy’s account is natural and credible. The fugitives from Asia 
Minor must necessarily have sailed westward. They would not have 
stopped on Grecian soil, nor would they have been apt to sail up into 
the Adriatic Gulf, one side of which washes the peninsula that termi- 
nates in Greece. The next peninsula was that of Italy, and they 
would naturally have landed on the western side of that, as being 
more remote from their enemies the Greeks. And naturally, too, they 
would have sailed up the coast through the four degrees of latitude 
that extend from the southernmost point to the mouth of the Tiber. 
The Tiber, indeed, as the first large river in their course, and abso- 
lutely out of reach of their hereditary enemies, offered an inviting 
harbor ; and up the Tiber the fugitives went. 

Then, after certain intermarriages had taken place between the in- 
comers and the choicest women to be found among the original inhab- 
itants, an early instance of the application of the principle of natural 
selection, the young men of the interlopers snatching their doubtless 
not unwilling brides from among the most blooming examples col- 
lected at high festival, there came into existence the Roman people, 
whose exploits in conquest, literature, and law are so well known, and 
of whom the Italian of to-day is the lineal descendant. 

The American citizen of to-day lives in a community mixed as to 
race beyond all experience in any other country in the world, starting 
at Plymouth and Jamestown with scanty colonies of mixed Danish, 
Saxon, and Norman parentage, then intermarrying to some extent with 
American Indians, and subsequently confused in blood with Teutons, 
Slavs, and Celts, so that the United States citizen to-day is a conglom- 
erate of all nationalities and a representative of no one in particular. 
He therefore needs to be reminded that there are countries on the planet 
where century after century the pedigree is uniform ; foreigners do not 
come in, and the race remains pure. Such is the case in Italy. Tro- 
jans, Samnites, Sabines, Albans, and a few Etruscans, united gradually 
and formed the Latin race, which as to Italy has remained pure. Such 
of the descendants of this race as emigrated to Gaul and intermarried 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


105 


there with Celtic people sank the Roman characteristics in the merger, 
1 he same event happened in the case of those who went to Spain and 
crossed the breetl with Vandals and Moors, and still further westward 
on the peninsula with Iberians. The pure Latin blood has been pre- 
served only in Italy. 

This sketch of the origin of the Italian of to-day enables us better 
to understand his value. He is at present what he was in the earlier 
historic periods, with certain changes of environment and a larger out- 
look into the world, yet, in all those characteristics that go to make up 
a nationality, the same. As a Roman he gave to Europe the system 
of civil law which prevails throughout the continent. Great Britain 
excepted. In later days he virtually created the art of painting, since 
the notions of color prevailing among the classic nations were feeble 
and rudimentary ; he revived that of sculpture, perpetuated architec- 
ture in the grand conceptions of the Milan Cathedral and St. Peter’s, 
and when the dawn of practical science took place he illustrated the 
new era with Galileo, Torricelli, and Cassini. Prior to this he supplied 
Columbus and Amerigo Vespucci, — although it is to the discredit of 
Italy that it was left for Spanish bigotry and avarice to send out the 
Italian of Genoa in search of a new world in the West. 

This Latin people is now lending its mind and muscle in increasing 
amount to the United States, The record is substantially as follows, 
as reported by the Superintendent of the United States Census. From 
1841 to 1850 there were 1870 Italian immigrants into the United 
States; from 1851 to 1860, 9231; from 1861 to 1870, 12,982; from 
1871 to 1880, 60,830; from 1881 to 1890, 307,095. So far as ratio 
is concerned, this is by far the largest increase in immigration. 

Some exception has been taken to Italian immigration because the 
Italian, influenced by the instinct of nationality, which is the legiti- 
mate' growth of many centuries of unbroken lineage, does not come 
to America in order to become an American, but to earn money with 
which to improve his condition at home. He comes to work. He 
comes, as a rule, from the agricultural districts of the southern part of 
Italy, where wages are low, land is cheap, and the po.ssession of a sum 
of money such as a thousand dollars, spoken of by him as five thou- 
sand lire, constitutes respectability and enviable village position. It is 
therefore his aim to find work at once on his arrival here, to keep at 
work, to save as large a part of his wages as possible, and to get back 
to his beloved Italy as soon as possible with a sum sufficient to establish 
himself in his native hills on a property of his own. 

It is our business, then, to consider him as an economic factor, rather 
than in a sentimental light as a subject for our patriotic impulses. 

We find, then, that he comes from a rural population and is thor- 
oughly industrious, and, while in bodily stature he is excelled by the 
German and the Irishman, in muscular strength, man for man, he is 
no whit inferior. He is willing, even anxious, to work, and is not apt 
to aid in enforcing the tyranny of Labor Unions upon people who 
employ labor. The old Roman spirit lives in this laborer, humble 
although he may be, and he claims the right, as a rule, to sell his labor 
in the market at whatever price he and the buyer agree upon. 


106 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


In the exercise of his natural freedom, too, he claims the right to 
live as economically as it may suit him, and to lay by a half of each 
dollar that he earns. As a matter of fact, I think that Italian laborers 
in the aggregate do not spend one-half their wages. Certainly they 
do not spend more than half. They are, therefore, productive to the 
community, as all thrifty persons are ; because it is not for the public 
policy that citizens should live up to their incomes, nor do such ex- 
penditures really encourage trade. Given an entire community making 
no savings, and with the first lull in industry distress ensues. This 
point I need not enlarge upon. 

Keeping very busy at work, and practising temperance and economy, 
the Italian laborer holds himself, as a rule, free from crime. There 
is a prev’alent but mistaken impression in the United States that our 
criminal class is largely Italian. This is an error, and an absurd error. 
It is fostered by the walking delegates of Labor Unions, to whose 
useless support the Italian refuses to contribute; and it is believed in 
by laborers of other nationalities, who go on strike rather than accept 
less wages than such as are arbitrarily laid down by arrogant leaders, 
mere Socialistic demagogues. One need only examine the records of 
crime from day to day in the public prints to ascertain the fact that 
Italian laborers do not greatly swell the criminal classes. 

The value of labor is both positive and relative. With Italian 
labor you build a house. You pay in wages at two dollars a day. Let 
us suppose that if you had employed Celtic or German labor you would 
have paid three dollars a day. In one case you expend for labor two 
thousand dollars; in the other, three thousand. The result is the same 
in either case. Suppose, further, that the three-thousand-dollar job 
were useful and profitable ; then the two-thousand-dollar job is more 
useful and profitable to the extent of a thousand dollars. Then the 
Italian laborers have enriched the community in the determinate amount 
of one thousand dollars, in addition to the indeterminate amount that 
always attends improvements of whatever nature. 

If meantime this laborer has lived in accordance with his wants, 
has been duly fed, clothed, and housed, and has laid by part of his 
wages, in enriching the community he has also enriched himself. 

Stated arithmetically, the case is about as follows : 

The laborer receives two dollars. He spends one. He enriches 
the community to the extent of three dollars; and when he carries the 
one saved dollar back to Italy he still leaves the United States richer 
than it would have been without him. 

It is estimated that there are about one hundred and twenty-five 
thousand of these busy and industrious people in New York and 
Brooklyn alone; and no unprejudiced person can question their great 
usefulness to these cities. 

When we come to achievements of a higher grade than those of 
manual labor, we shall find that the United States owes much to Italy. 
In the noble studies attendant upon music, we sit at the feet of Italy. 
Italian opera is the delight of the world. The mere mention, as to 
the present century, of Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, Petrella, and Verdi 
fills us with admiration and respect for the country that produced the 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


107 


men and inspired their capabilities. I know that there is also French 
opera and German opera, — that the gift of musical utterance is not 
confined to any one nation ; but it is not necessary to attempt to show 
that Italy in this field of human effort easily leads all others. French 
music is essentially light. Celtic genius does not lend itself to pro- 
found sentiment expressed in modulated form. And the genius of the 
Teutonic races — like their own vast and gloomy forests, from which 
they had hardly begun to emerge when the Italian States were rich 
and cultivated and were leading all Europe in science, art, and diplo- 
macy — is as yet chaotic, capable of framing harmonies such as the 
wind furnishes to us in every pine-tree, but deficient in the construction 
of melody, which so much more powerfully attracts the attention and 
influences the sentiment. Without attempting to detract in any respect 
from the merits of German opera, I would simply ask readers whether 
they derive more pleasure from the memories of ‘‘ Lucrezia Borgia,” 
“ Lucia,” “ The Huguenots,” “ The Puritans,” “ Semiramide,” “ Rigo- 
letto,” and “ Aida,” or from those of “ Lohengrin” and the Trilogy 
of the Nibelungen.* I am not discussing the topic of symphonic 
music. Here the Germans are masters. But operatic music occupies 
a different and a wider field. It is the music that attracts great audi- 
ences and sways wLole communities, — that inspires the most renowned 
vocal artists, inculcates history, and illustrates romance. More popular 
and vastly more dramatic than oratorio, more attractive than symphony, 
it may be styled the monarch of music; and it numbers among its 
subjects the greatest singers of the world, a Malibran, a Grisi, a Pasta, 
a Lind, a Nilsson, a Patti. Europe and the United States owe their 
education in grand opera to Italy, and almost alone to Italy. 

In painting, the United States owes less to Italy in respect of modern 
examples than to France. But we must not forget that one of the 
principal stimulants to the zeal of French art students is the contest 
for the Prix de Rome, which includes a residence in the Eternal City 
during a term of years, with access to its galleries and the studios of 
its masters. Thus Rome and Florence may still be the fountain-heads 
of art, while Paris and Munich are the conduits through which the 
refreshing streams are conducted over the world. And even if Italy 
were obliged to repose upon her laurels as the mother of painting, how 
vast is the gift which she has already bestowed upon the nations! 
Speaking within bounds, nearly all of our religious art has come from 
Italy. She gave us the first landscape-painters, and to her we owe 
nearly all that we know of color. In sculpture she still leads the 


* Apropos of the sentiment of each language, it is said that the Emperor 
of Austria once remarked to Rossini, — 

“ Rossini, I’ve been thinking that your language is so seductive that the 
devil must have employed it when he tempted Eve in the garden of Eden.” 

“ I have no doubt, your Majesty,” quietly responded the great composer, 
“ that when the Lord drove them out of the garden he spoke in German.” 

Some critic has observed that after listening to Italian opera well sung one 
goes away filled with benevolent impulses, devising rich gifts for family and 
friends ; after German opera he wanders off full of chaotic and fell designs of 
active malevolence against his entire species. 


108 


WHAT THE UNITED STATES OWES TO ITALY. 


world, and the United States not only owes to her genius its best 
statues, but is indebted to her quarries for its best marble. 

As to religion I say nothing, except that the great Apostle to the 
Gentiles transferred the seat of the early Church from Palestine to 
Rome, as it is said, with more or less opposition on the part of the 
Hebrew portion of the Church. The two concluding verses of the 
historic part of the New Testament state that “ Paul dwelt two whole 
years in his own hired house, and received all that came in unto him, 
preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which con- 
cern the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man forbidding 
him.” This tolerance was such as the Roman Emperors extended to 
all religions. The gods of all nations met with equal respect under 
most of the Cffisars. Gibbon summarizes this easy toleration as follows : 
“ The people regarded these various creeds as equally true, the philos- 
ophers as equally false, and the rulers as equally useful.” But, without 
going into theological discussion of any kind, it is safe to say that 
the crystallization of Christianity into a visible and powerful Church 
organization is due to Rome, and in the results of that process Europe 
and the United States mainly share. “ All roads lead to and from 
Rome.” 

In statecraft we owe much to Italy. Statesmanship is not so much 
a matter of principles as of compromises ; and if we must choose be- 
tween a John Brown and a Machiavelli, by all means let us follow 
Machiavelli. The keen and subtle intellects of Italy perceived at an 
early date in the strifes of the great nations of Europe, between which 
they were located, and in which they were frequently obliged to take 
part, contrary to judgment and inclination, that there was much more 
to gain and much less to lose by practising the arts of accommodation 
than by standing out for the triumph of abstract and perhaps impos- 
sible theories. In Northern Italy, then, was the birthplace of European 
diplomacy, which has never ceased to be in all contests eventually the 
strongest power. Metternich and Talleyrand really brought heavier 
artillery against Napoleon than Bliicher and Wellington brought at 
Waterloo. Lord Stratford had more to do with defeating Russia in 
the Crimea than Lord Raglan or Marshal P^lissier. As with the most 
skilful statesmen in Europe, so it is with those of the United States; 
they owe their methods and education to Italian models, and these 
models remain, and always will remain, as a part of the heritage of 
ancient Rome and mediaeval Italy to the nations. 

Do we not in this Western World also owe something to Italy for 
such an example of heroism as Garibaldi? Native of Nice, and resi- 
dent of the little rock of Caprera on the northern coast of Sardinia, he 
was inspired with the vision of a United Italy, although born on one 
of her humblest appanages. His statue stands in Washington Square 
in New York, to remind the passer-by of our debt to Italy for the 
crowning instance of patriotic impulse in this century. 

Have I unduly praised the land in which I was born ? I think 
not. In the constant flux and reflux of populations, bringing and 
carrying new manners, new educations, new discoveries, and new truths, 
it is hard to say whither the balance of advantages inclines, or whether 


^^THE NEW POETRY'' AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. IQO 

the case may not be, as in healthful commercial transactions, that none 
lose and all gain. We have seen that the United States gains by the 
labor of the humbler portion of Italian immigration, as well as in the 
loftier arts of music, painting, and diplomacy. It is also easily credible 
that the sturdy and industrious Italian who returns home to his native 
town in the Apennines or in the smiling valleys of the south of the 
peninsula may impart to his fellow-Italians not only the benefits of 
American capital, but also a deeper and wider consciousness of that 
spirit of liberty which animates the Western World and has brought 
it in the course of a single century to such a height of glorious success. 
In this way, Italy may yet be an involuntary messenger of Freedom 
to the far East, between which and the Western World it extends its 
bulk, and from which in legendary days it derived the stock which 
aided in making the free, victorious, yet law-abiding Roman. 

Giovanni P. Morosini. 


‘‘THE NEW POETRY’’ AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 

I N England, as elsewhere, it is the sport to find labels for things ; to 
play at godfather on slight provocation. Occasionally it has been 
found a superfluous game; a case of old wine in new bottles; a matter 
of rechristening. We have had “The New Art” in Mr. J. McNeil 
Whistler; “The New Humor” in Mr. Barry Pain, Mr. Jerome K. 
Jerome, and Mr. I. Zangwill ; and “ The New Poetry” in Mr. AV. E. 
Henley. It were to consider too curiously to ask. Why new ? But 
newspapers must have head-lines, and the paragraphists counters. It 
was convenient to treat certain matters in art and literature from the 
stand-point of the curator of a museum. The phrases at first were 
amusing ; now they are somewhat tiresome. At first new names serve 
as an advertisement ; but when the advertisement ceases to be amusing, 
there is danger to the art — unless the art be abundantly able to outlive 
a fashion or a fad and is intrinsically valuable. The art itself must be 
amusing, or the matter is in the hands of the Philistines ; and there is 
no death like that out of Philistia. In London (I cannot speak of New 
York or Philadelphia), if you are clever and amusing, you may find a 
vogue ; you need not be deep, or accurate, or sensible. You are for- 
tunate if you are witty. London refuses to take many things seriously. 
Maybe it is right. It had the new religion in the Salvation Army and 
General Booth. These it took seriously. The result is not amusing. 
In London you must succeed in order to keep your vogue. It is not 
clever in General Booth to have a deficit in his treasury. Tentative 
successes must be followed up by j)ermanent successes. The New Re- 
ligion is on the decline. The New Humor is losing its piquancy. 
The New Art, which has never ceased to be amusing, wittily patron- 
izes the Royal Academy and finds its home in the Luxembourg. The 
New Art is alive enough to live, — which is an achievement. Some 
things die long before breath halts. It is so with matters as with men. 
It is a fine privilege to set a fashion or make one, but it is not 


110 ^^THE NEW POETRY^' AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 

worthy of the artist if the thing (in society, or literature, or any other 
art) is new-fangled without being new, or sincere, — in other words, 
sincerely artificial. With all respect to very clever gentlemen, the 
New Humor does not justify its title. It was an old dish “ warmed 
up.” The New Poetry, so called, justifies itself : it continuas, and the 
other languishes. All the things to be said in the world are old, but 
if you say them in an individual and singular way you are entitled to 
your vogue : hence Mr. Stevenson, Mr. Kipling, and Mr. Henley. 

In being singular there is the danger of being bizarre. Such at 
times was Mr. Walt Whitman. The revolutionist, however righteous 
his revolt, is always in danger of egregiousness : the stronger and 
more righteous his convictions, the greater danger. Mr. Walt Whit- 
man may not infrequently be convicted of egregiousness. Some whom 
Mr. Henley has startled count him egregious. It is probable that 
many editors thought him so, for his work went begging many a year 
in London. It had believers, followers, from the first. Among these 
was Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson. Many of the poems (“ A Book of 
Verses”), which, since 1888, have been much quoted and admired, were 
written as far back as 1872. 

It is possible that those who sat in judgment in the high places of 
the magazines thought Mr. Henley’s work too “ intense.” It had, and 
has, in parts a daring in idea and expression which sorts little with a 
delicate convention having as its dearest foible, in the seventies, the 
rondeaus, ballades, rondels, and quatorzains borrowed from the French. 
But it is singular that while Mr. Henley was making his alarming 
Hospital V erses (“ A Book of V erses”) he was also deftly and pleas- 
antly competing in the same French fashions with Mr. Austin Dobson 
and Mr. Frederick Locker. It is amusing to see these verses, so dis- 
similar, side by side in the same volume. 

Through Mr. Henley’s ballades there travels a fine gayety and 
insouciance, and a very pretty faculty for epithet. Nothing could be 
more romantic than “A Toyokuni Color-Print,” more cheerful and 
lilting than ‘^Of Midsummer Days and Nights,” more delicate, tender, 
and musical than “ When you are old and I am passed away ;” and for 
a touch of the happiest romance, once again, the poem from which Mr. 
Kipling takes his motto for “ The Finest Story in the World :” 

Or ever the knightly years were gone 
With the old world to the grave, 

I was a king in Babylon, 

And you a Christian slave. 

Yet Mr. Henley might have gone on writing these pleasant lyrics 
foi the course of his natural life without making any very singular im- 
pression upon the British public. Indeed, it was owing to the disinter- 
ment of some lyrics published in a short-lived magazine called London 
and in other journals, and their setting forth in a volume with the 
works of certain other poets, that attention was at all concentrated 
upon him. 

*0 Mr. Henley certain faculties, as, for instance, a 
very liberal faculty for romance, such as was given to the gifted being 


^^THE NEW POETRY" AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. m 

whom he most resembles at his best, — Heinrich Heine, — but we must 
credit him with a fascinating lyrical grace. When Mr. Henley set out 
to do what others had not done and had hesitated to attempt, certain 
danger-signals were thrown up. To put into verse the grim, monot- 
onous life of a hospital would seem an impossible task. But Mr. 
Henley did not doubt that the severe, the tragical, and the common- 
place could be by artifice made beautiful. Like Mr. Walt Whitman, 
who seized upon the battle-field for a series of most striking poems, he 
looked at the life of the hospital ward, its contrasts with the outer 
world, the poetry of its isolation and solitariness, with a deep, intimate 
eye; and out of it has come the so-called “ New School of Poetry.’’ 

That which has distinguished Mr. Henley’s poems from those of 
his fellow-poets naturally constitutes the idiosyncrasy or individuality 
of the New School. Mr. Henley’s most distinguished work bears 
much the same relation to that of Mr. Alfred Austin or Mr. William 
Watson — lately renowned, and more lately unfortunate — as Walt 
Whitman’s does to Longfellow’s or Mr. Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s, 
or as Heine’s to Beranger’s. It is an odd experience to read a poem 
and be fascinated by it and yet not to recognize that it has rhyme. 
It is an easy thing to read the work of many of our poets in England 
and America and recognize little else but the charm of rhythm and 
rhyme. With Mr. Henley you find far more the perfection in epi- 
thet than the delight of rhyme. Sometimes the epithet appears too 
adventurous, — almost startling, — yet never crude or inept. It is a 
bold thing to seize upon some common slang expression and incor- 
porate it into verse which, before all, shall have distinction and ele- 
gance, as well as power, insight, and emotional value. But Mr. 
Henley has done this successfully. Lines of his poems, — say, from 
the “London Voluntaries,” “The Song of the Sword, and Other 
Poems,” — when isolated, must appear to the usual reader almost un- 
poetical and uncouth. Read in the general structure of the poem they 
convince you as being perfectly in place. The slang of yesterday be- 
comes the classic of to-day. Mr. Henley has taken the slang of to-day 
and is making it the classic of to-day. It is a daring business, but it 
is indicative of the general temper of the man. His literary criticisms 
have always been marked by a singular independence, fearlessness, and 
general rightness, — and an occasional wrongness also, as witness his book 
of essays, “ Views and Reviews.” But strong and honest thinkers have 
often (Carlyle and Tolstoi, for instance) a kind of extravagance in state- 
ment which is at core a noble impatience with flatness, inconsequence, 
mere artificiality and empiricism. The prophet and revolutionist is 
always more or less egregious. His impulse is to set things in sharp — 
sometimes violent — contrasts. He has not the calmness of his follower, 
who, not the framer of a convention, but an artificer more or less gov- 
erned by it, smooths out his art to suave, acceptable, and decorous 
conclusions. 

It is sometimes laid at the door of the prophet that he is not 
always intelligible,— Mr. Robert Browning, Mr. J. McNeil Whistler, 
and Mr. Henley, for example. But the charge is a vain one, when 
applied absolutely. The man with a new way of doing things empha- 


112 


^^THE NEW POETRY’^ AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 


sizes, as a rule, more strongly than is necessary ; and it is possible that 
Mr. Henley, in some of his poems, has emphasized in epithet and ex- 
pression too strongly. But that the heart of his work is right, and 
himself a man with something to say and a pronounced artifice in say- 
ing it, may not be doubted. Mr. Henley was not content, when he 
was an art critic and editor, to be ruled by a convention' which declined 
upon things acceptable for a new soap or a medicine for the liver. 
This may or may not be the reason that he resigned the editorship of 
the Magazine of Art. But that he was already content to be an enemy 
of the Philistine is best shown by the persistence with which he fol- 
lowed up his far from notorious crusade by work of his own in poetry 
which is as distant in some regards from the desires of Philistia as may 
be imagined. Long hard years of travel in difficult ways only served 
to develop an idiosyncrasy which is stamped upon most of the pages of 
“ A Book of Verses” and on every page of “ The Song of the Sword,” 
and which is exhibited weekly in the remarkably clever and courageous 
National Observe)', a High-Tory journal under the thumb of no Tory, 
and a literary production under the hand and seal of an original and 
admirable man of letters. As an example of Mr. Henley’s curious and 
often fascinating faculty for unusual epithet, a few lines from his “ Lon- 
don Voluntaries” (“The Song of the Sword”) may be given. From 
his poem on “The East Wind” let this be taken : 

And Death the while — 

Death with his well-worn, lean, professional smile. 

Death in his threadbare working trim — 

Comes to your bedside, unannounced and bland, 

And with expert, inevitable hand 

Feels at your windpipe, fingers you in the lung. 

Or flicks the clot well into the laboring heart: 

Thus signifying unto old and young. 

However hard of mouth or wild of whim, 

’Tis time — ’tis time by his ancient watch — to part 
With books and women and talk and drink and art: 

And you go humbly after him 

To a mean suburban lodging : on the way 

To what or where 

Not Death, who is old and very wise, can say : 

And you — how should you care 
So long as, unreclaimed of hell. 

The Wind-Fiend, the insufferable. 

Thus vicious and thus patient sits him down 
To the black job of burking London Town? 

Whatever may be said of such work as this, it must be accounted 
deep and unusual. It gives an uncanny feeling, but then it was to 
produce the uncanny feeling that the lines were written ; just as certain 
of Poe’s stories are intended to produce a weird impression above and 
apart from the mere fascinating peculiarity of epithet. To read Mr. 
Henley in the light of such extracts as this alone would be to carry 
away an idea of a remarkably weird, almost incompanionable, facultv 
in verse. Such lines are grim to read ; but the subject was grirh. 
When Mr. Henley, with the deliberation of the artist, — who is always, 
when a true artist, aristocratic enough to be deliberate, — chooses a sub- 


^^THE NEW POETRY” AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 


113 


ject from a different hemisphere of impression and emotion, he treats 
it with its appropriate and adequate temper. In the same “ London 
Voluntaries,” his picture of October, “mild and boon,” in the Strand, 
is full of most genial eloquence, charm, and sunlight. Health, hope, 
and grandeur are in it. Here are a few of the lines : 

Trafalgar Square 

(The fountains volleying golden glaze) 

Gleams like an angel-market. High aloft 
Over his couchant Lions in a haze 
Shimmering and bland and soft, 

A dust of chrysoprase, 

Our Sailor takes the golden gaze 
Of the saluting sun, and flames superb 
As once be flamed it on his ocean round. 

’Tis El Dorado — El Dorado plain. 

The Golden City ! And when a girl goes by. 

Look ! as she turns her glancing head, 

A call of gold is floated from her ear I 
Golden, all golden ! In a golden glory, 

Long lapsing down a golden-coasted sky. 

The day not dies but seems 
Dispersed in wafts and drifts of gold and shed 
Upon a past of golden song and story 
And memories of gold and golden dreams. 

It is only by these contrasts that Mr. Henley can be properly read. 
No two things could be more unlike than these quoted extracts, and 
yet the same depth, concentration, and insight are in both. In some 
respects Mr. Henley’s power is almost painful. He gets at the very 
core of a thought, strips it naked, and presents it to you in a kind of 
focussed light. The light sometimes is too strong for the ordinary 
reader, but then Mr. Henley, unfortunately, is not writing for the 
ordinary reader. It will be, one ventures to think, his lot in a large 
way to influence others who will write for the ordinary reader — if not 
for the British matron. That the soundness, vitality, and delighted 
sincerity of Mr. Henley’s work will give him a unique and distin- 
guished position among the few writers who deserve to be remembered 
from decade to decade, some sceptics may doubt ; but that, in the cir- 
cumstances, helps to establish the case, for the lovers of the pinking- 
iron will not all at once bear strength and manliness in art. To suffer 
all at once an immediate popularity is to discount one’s future need- 
lessly. 

For a man of forty years and a little over, Mr. Henley has not 
produced a vast deal of work. His two books of poems, — neither of 
them large, — “ Views and Reviews,” “ Lyra Heroica,” — a book of 
English verse for boys, — “Memorial Catalogue of the French and 
Dutch Loan Collection at Edinburgh,” “ A Century of Artists,” “ A 
Monograph upon Sir Henry Raeburn,” and three plays — “Deacon 
Brodie,” “Beau Austin,” and “Admiral Guinea” — written in conjunc- 
tion with Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson and lately published in Amer- 
ica — constitute most of his work in book form. 

But in this comparatively brief list we get an indication of the 
VoL. LII.— 8 


114 


^^THE NEW POETRY" AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 


character of the man. Mr. Henley’s poems, as his prose, hear the 
mark of concentration, precision, and tlie power of rejection, — which is 
perhaps the greatest quality an artist can have : in it is the root of the 
whole matter. Mr. Henley’s canvas is always small. In this regard 
he compares with some of his contemporaries and ancestors in poetry 
as Meissouier does to De Neiiville. There is no plethora of expression 
or sentiment in the work of the New School ; no cantos or multiplied 
stanzas; no languor nor linked sweetness; no attempt to “thrill the 
girls with dandy pathos.” Mr. Henley’s lyrics, full of delightful fresh- 
ness and sprightliness and sentiment, have the quality of the perfect 
miniature. One feels that his words are etched out of the thought for 
their own sake as well as the thought’s sake, and that he will sacrifice 
neither for the girls nor the dandy pathos. 

Through Mr. Henley’s poetry there runs one note piped in many 
keys. He sings the gospel of conflict — of war; but he sings it without 
whining. To him life is — as it was to Rabelais — an enormous incon- 
gruity, — “ preposterous and sublime,” — but from the precipitation of 
its forces he gets the good crystal, Courage. He has a rare burly 
{)leasure in fighting, yet, with a sense of humor, enjoys, almost after 
the manner of the ancients, a kind of boisterous indolence. His lyrics 
have a buxomness and high spirits, and all his other work a handsome- 
ness and invincible heartiness. In ears accustomed to the charming air 
and elegant pensiveness of much present-day poetry, the verse of the 
New School must have too much nervous timbre for comfort. Yet for 
the over-sensitive Mr. Henley has provided (not in thought of them, 
we may be sure, for he has never been suspected of catering) in such 
exquisite and simple things as his “Impression of Spring in Picca- 
dilly,” out of the “ London Voluntaries,” and “ A late lark twitters 
from the quiet skies,” and that touching poem to his dead mother, 
“ Matri Dilectissimse,” a few lines of which we give here : 

Between the river and the stars, 

O royal and radiant soul, 

Thou dost return, thine influences return 
Upon thy children as in life, and death 
Turns stingless. What is death 
But life in act? Sweetest, how should the grave 
Be victor over thee. 

Mother, a mother of men? 


In these few lines we may find two sources of Mr. Henley’s strength. 
One touches himself very nearly, the other his art. Mr. Henley knows 
men. He has played upon all the pipes of experience, he is masterfully 
human; his sympathy is strong, manly, and truthful. He knows the 
world through and through, and yet does not despise it, — an unknown 
privilege to a little soul. On the contrary, the world is a good battle- 
ground, where you may fight and bury your dead in a fine gentlemanly 
spirit, mess in good temper, with fine a}>petite, be natural in every 
function of manhood without the furtive eye, and have the naive, 
wholesome look on life. 

One other distinguishing characteristic in the few lines from “ Matri 


^'THE NEW POETRY'' AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 


115 

Dilectissimse” is the broken line. A nnniber of verse-writers have at- 
tempted the Greek forms, but few liave attained even moderate success 
with it. Mr. Henley (one supposes) tried what rhythms could do with- 
out rhymes, as in some of the “Hospital Verses,” and then boldly 
handled the broken line. Matthew Arnold had tried it, and failed in a 
very distinguished fashion. His form was high and classical, but the 
work lacked vitality. Heine used it, and succeeded nobly ; but Heine 
was a master. Walt Whitman sought to make it a convention, but his 
methods, though commanding, were hap-hazard : not even his unusual 
poetical powers could carry it off*. Emerson dared ; but then Emerson 
was a philosopher, not a poet. Mr. Henley’s genius, however, is suited 
to the broken line. He dared, and has not ^iled. He put his skill 
most to the test in “ The Song of the Sword,” which gives the title to 
his last book of verses. Had he failed in it, the hazard was lost ; for 
the theme was out of the very core of his ideas, and he must have 
come to it with a fine cheerfulness. Whatever may be thought of the 
temper and purpose of the poem, there can be no doubt of the success 
of the artifice : he is a master of his tools. He gathered down a great 
subject into a very little com})ass; cut down a mountain and made a 
statue. You may challenge the gospel of the Sword as Mr. Henley 
has preached it, but you will hesitate before challenging the setting of 
that gospel. As to the gospel itself, it is much a matter of ii*on in the 
blood. Strong men will be moved by it ; but it is not for the school- 
miss and the lady-like young man. It is all the difference between the 
pinking-iron and the anvil, — between a cretonne curtain and the flag 
of Shenandoah. The soul of Mr. Henley’s work is his interest in life. 
He enjoys up and down the whole gamut. It all has been worth the 
doing: you never find him whimpering. How paltry Art looks on 
the shoulders of the pessimist! — declining upon ante-mortems, serving 
for epitaphs instead of epithets. One “ admirable phrase” is worth “ a 
hundred hearts on arms.” The phrase may have its way with the 
centuries; the centuries have their way with the Tomlinsons and the 
Miss Nancys. It is all largely a matter of personality. Mr. Henley 
is what his poetry is : those who know it know the man. His poems 
are not narratives, but revelations. Their cheerfulness and indomitable- 
ness excite you ; their pathos and truthfulness catch you in the throat — 
not by the throat. You may sometimes wish the emotions triturated ; 
you would not if you knew the man out of whom they have been dug, — 
whose life of great physical suffering has not taken from him a fine 
wholesome courage, a convincing presence, an unvarying force in con- 
versation, a taste for hating as much as he loves, a faculty for getting 
(as an editor) the best out of his contributors, and for provoking fidelity. 

Any who have seen in portraiture the excellent bust of Mr. Henley 
by Ro^in — whom Mr. Henley championed before he was the great 
Rodin — would understand the nervous power of his work, — occasion- 
ally too inflamed in his prose, at times too abrupt, — and would naturally 
look for much dramatic force in his plays. In “ Deacon Brodie” and 
“ Admiral Guinea” — lately published, as we have said, with “ Beau 
Austin” — this force shows abundantly and finely; though the faculty 
for construction is by no means perfect. The plays read better than 


116 


THE NEW POETRY" AND MR. W. E. HENLEY. 


they would act. “ Beau Austin,” however, is admirable in construc- 
tion, simple, distinguished, and effective, and should have a future* on 
the stage. 

As to Mr. Henley’s influence upon literature. He has dared to say 
things, he has dared to do things, which others have hesitated to say 
and do. He has opened a way for a larger, deeper convention. He 
has broadened our view by his daring, and his strength by his fine art. 
When his “ Hospital Verses” appeared, such things as “ Operation,” 
“Clinical,” “Staff-Nurse,” “Old Style,” “ House-Surgeon,” started the 
cry of realism. But it, as a cry, was no longer amusing to the public, 
and the paragraphists dropped it. The book was accepted as art. 
Here and there was a grisly repellent subject, but none could resist 
the charm of such things as “ Discharged,” with its abundant joy 
and spirit : 

Free ! 

Dizzy, hysterical, faint, 

I sit, and the carriage rolls on with me 
Into the wonderful world. 

No doubt Mr. Henley would himself be the first to laugh at the 
idea of founding a new school of poetry, — he has humor, — but there 
must be head-lines and labels, and it is as it may be. I have used the 
term because others have used it and it gives locale. Mr. Henley has 
done what Mr. Kipling has done : he has unshackled himself from the 
threadbare uses of a convention which, governed by a great master like 
Lord Tennyson, is noble, but becomes inconsequent in the hands of 
the average minor poet. It is impossible that the influence of such a 
man, working in his poems, in his published volumes of prose, and in 
the National Observer weekly, should go for nothing. As an inspira- 
tion to hardy work in literature he has his high place. What there is 
of over-accentuation need not, probably will not, continue. For a 
wider reputation and a more general popularity he can afford to wait. 
That he will have both, his admirers agree. If he does not get them, 
himself will grieve least. To him art is a noble pastime, not to be 
bought to order and price : as thus, to be “ sold for a song” — or a 
sword, — 

The Sword 
Singing— 

The voice of the Sword from the heart of the Sword 

Clanging imperious 

Forth from Time’s battlements 

His ancient triumphing Song. 

***** 

Hard and bleak, keen and cruel, 

Short-hilted, long-shafted, 

I froze into steel. 

Qilbert Parker. 


A WILD NIGHT ON THE AMAZON. 


117 


A WILD NIGHT ON THE AMAZON 

T he average traveller who merely does the round among the places 
well known to the tourist world not only denies himself the 
charm of leaving the beaten path and plunging into unknown regions, 
but also fails to appreciate the pleasure of adventure which makes the 
traveller’s heart beat faster at the recollection of dangers fought and 
overcome. 

It was the hope of finding sport out of the common run that took 
myself and four companions to South America in 1873 and kept us 
knocking about down there for more than six years. For the par- 
ticular trip of which I speak here, a six months’ shooting-expedition 
on the Amazon River, we purchased in London a light-draught sec- 
tional steel launch, large enough to carry us and our traps comfortably, 
and equipped her with a small tubular engine made to burn either 
wood, coal, or charcoal. On arriving at Para we decided, after a trial 
trip in the harbor, to purchase all the charcoal we could carry with us, 
and to replenish our store en route in the forests skirting the banks of 
the river. 

We steamed out of the bay in the Intrepid, a few days after the 
trial trip. After passing Cape Magoari and on reaching open water 
we steered north by west until we arrived at Mexiana Island, and 
anchored at the village of Villa Nova. 

Every traveller, every artist, and every bohemian, no matter of 
what stripe, interprets nature in proportion to the development of his 
appreciative faculties for the enjoyment of the beautiful. It is to the 
dreams to which the lazy, hazy equator gives rise that the tropical 
South owes her romance-laden reputation. In the laissez-aller indo- 
lence bred by the tropical sun the liveliest and most active Northern 
imagination is calmed and soothed into an indolent repose which fires 
the poetry in the artist’s soul and tinges it with the awe of the unknown. 
It draws into strong relief the picturesqueness of the new surroundings, 
in the lands of brilliant colors and eff’ects, against a background of an 
extinct semi-barbarous civilization and chivalry, the memory of which 
has been hallowed by the lapse of ages. 

To us five Yankees, sailing under the Southern Cross day after 
day, the white canopy of our awning shelter seemed like the plumage 
of an immense tropical bird, the brighter and whiter for the trans- 
parent azure of the heavens above and the deep-sea blue of the waters 
over which we were skimming. It was at night, however, with the 
silvery moon thrown in shimmering silhouette against the phospho- 
rescent waters of the Atlantic, that every fire-laden little wavelet which 
in its indolent fashion washed against the sides of our small craft 
seemed to us the torch of some hidden playful nymph, thrown from 
the depths below to eclipse with the brilliant deep-sea light the splendor 
of the orb of night. 

In this dream-land we steamed on for four days and nights, real- 


.118 


A WILD NIGHT ON THE AMAZON. 


izing for the first time the dolce far niente of earthly peace and calm, 
and when the sounds of our three guitars and a zither, with Maxwell’s 
tender baritone voice, floated over the waters, the enchantment of the 
time seemed to us the incarnation of the ideal in romance. 

Sleep came unsought to those of us not on the* watch, after the 
evening pipes were exhausted, and as in dreams we sailed away we 
were almost nightly lulled i)ito sweet forgetfulness by our songster, 
who was a great fellow for tender Spanish verse. 

A day spent in the lazy, dirty village of Gurufa, and then we were 
off on our trip for good, steaming up the turbid Amazon for the un- 
known land of adventure. 

Towards dusk we ran in close to the high banks of the shore, and, 
after securing the launch to a towering forest giant rooted on the bank, 
we passed our first evening, or rather part of it, in the strange quiet of 
a tropical forest. Supper over and everything snug for the night, with 
the large reflector lamps in full glow suspended at the foremast, we 
spent the early part of the evening with song and pipes as usual. 

Overhead, our old friend the moon shone with a brilliancy which 
is best appreciated in the gloom of giant tropical trees. The odors of 
strange and unfamiliar plants were about us on all sides, and as the aro- 
matic smoke from our brier-wood pipes mingled in the tropical incense, 
we speculated as to the reception Virginia’s golden leaf would win 
from the perfume-laden strangers on King Amazon’s shores. 

We had just decided to turn in, so as to be ready for an early morn- 
ing’s start, and Imbrie, upon whom devolved the first watch, was busy 
inspecting the moorings which held us to the shore, when in the far- 
otf distance we heard a rumbling, roaring noise, not unlike the heavy 
cannonading during a bombardment. In a moment we were all on our 
feet, listening and conjecturing as to the nature of the unusual sound. 
But for the fact that we had timed our trip for the beginning of the 
dry season, I would have sworn that the booming noise was the fore- 
runner of a tropical tornado. So as not to be taken unawares by 
such a storm, which might have been driven inland from the ocean, as 
I argued, we hastily replaced our light awning with heavy water-proof 
tarpaulin and tautened it until its sides were as stiff* as boards and 
yet yielding enough to prevent our swamping in case of a big blow. 

Drag-anchors were thrown out from both stem and stern, and then 
we waited for the danger, which kept drawing nearer and nearer. Not 
a cloud obscured the moon, nor did the air have any of that oppress- 
ive feeling which it takes on just before a tornado in the tropics. No 
unusual disturbance among the feathered tribes or wild animals in the 
forest announced the approach of an earthquake. All we could do 
was to await developments. 

‘‘ What was that?” we asked, in a breath, as a sudden jar from 
under the boat lifted the launch with a sickening movement, and before 
we had time to think of an answer we saw it in the river below, rush- 
ing towards us with frightful rapidity, a solid wall of turbid, muddy, 
and boiling waters, towering, as I thought, at least thirty feet high. 

Then everything was chaos for a few minutes, for the flood had 

struck us. I remember that our launch seemed raised to the crest of 


A WILD NIGHT ON THE AMAZON. 


119 


the immense wall, and for an eternity of time suspended on the very 
brink of the terrible seething water. 

I looked down the precipice on the edge of which we were hang- 
ing, and as the uncoiled hawser snapped like a rotten thread the 
launch was hurled back into the churning waves. One minute we 
were threatened with destruction in the mad whirl of a giant sucking 
whirlpool, and the next saw us spinning ofiF at a tangent to bring up 
against a more terrifying wave, that seemed bent on ending our career. 
But the Intrepid rode the water like a duck, and after every assault 
of the flood bobbed up undaunted for another encounter. Crouching 
in her bottom, and baling the water, as it flew over the gunwales in 
drenching spray or in massive waves, with our hats as well as anything 
else we could get hold of, we waited for the final toss which should 
end our danger and send us bodily into the flood, to be tossed about, 
swollen and bruised, the dead prey for myriads of feathered scavengers. 

For more than five hours we were the shuttlecock for this maniac 
flood, which, as it swept up-stream against the powerful current of the 
mighty river, backed up the descending waters until even the highest 
banks were flooded. The largest trees fell victims to the raging torrent, 
and the tall banks were washed away in such a manner that later 
travellers scarcely knew the river again. 

“ Look ahead cried Franklin, who Avas holding on to the wheel 
with a grip of death. ‘‘ For God’s sake, pray, lads ! The end has 
come ! Look sharp ! If we brave this danger it will be by a miracle!” 
and there ahead of us, looming up out of the middle of the river, rose 
a large island whose sides were fully twenty feet high. 

The mad torrent was making straight for this obstruction, and, 
while we were being carried onward with the rapidity of lightning, 
two of us managed to crawl aft to Franklin’s assistance. Grasping 
the wheel, we strained in united effort and succeeded in holding the 
launch “ head on” to the flood. 

Every eye was on the lookout for whatever vantage we could gain, 
and when Franklin shouted to us in a voice made hoarse by despera- 
tion, “ Put her hard over now ! With me, boys, and perhaps we can 
escape,” we tugged and pulled until every chord in our bodies seemed 
to be on the rack. A roar, a weird horrible shriek, such as none 
of us ever wanted to hear again, broke over the tumult of boiling 
waters,— a shriek of angry defiance,— and the mad flood was hurled 
back from the island, one-half on each side, its force almost broken. 

The command of our wheelman alone saved us, for with the part- 
ing waters we shot into that side which washed over the powerful 
channel of the river, and in another moment we were swept down- 
stream with the rapidity of a streak of sunlight. At first stern on, 
we were fortunately able to swing our boat head to with the current in 
a short time, and from then on we had no trouble to keep our launch 
clear of the threatened collisions with trees and wreckage. 

As we approached a turn in the river, we were caught in the 
power of a strong whirlpool, and in less than the proA^erbial twinkling 
of an eye we were tossed, as if from a catapult, high and dry on an 
elevated* mud-bank which jutted out into the river at this point. 


120 


MY CASTLE. 


We were now out of the rush of the flood, but not out of danger, 
as we could see by the reflector-lamps which still remained at the fore- 
mast, and which we relit as soon as we found the boat grounded. 
Stationed on both sides, and armed with strong boat-hooks, we kept 
off* the debris of fallen trees and other floating matter, and in this 
manner the night was spent, while slowly the waters receded. 

When daylight finally came over the scene of destruction, the river 
had resumed its natural bed. Wide and near, the banks were shaven 
off* until they were almost even with the low-water mark of the day 
before, and the tangled mass of tropical vegetation which then fairly 
matted the ground was washed away, leaving only oozing muddy flats 
instead. A thorough inspection of our boat showed that she had 
received no serious damage, and in a few hours we built a portage of 
drift-wood by which we launched her on the treacherous river again. 
After drying our water-soaked charcoal for a few hours in the sun, we 
got up steam and sailed at a ten-knot rate over the same course which, 
during the awful night just passed, had threatened us every minute 
with the grave. 

Months afterwards, when we arrived safe and sound, on our return 
trip, at Para, we were told that during that awful day and night in 
which the tidal wave started from the Atlantic to carry destruction 
and disaster far up into the country we were given up as lost, and the 
news of the tragic flood and our supposed death was sent to London as 
well as to New York by steamers touching at that port. 

The disaster of Apia a few years ago, in which a tidal wave 
destroyed many of the largest ships in that port, reminded me of our 
experience on the Amazon, and I do not think that any of the sur- 
vivors of our trip will ever forget our night of horror. 

Morgan S. Edmicnda. 


MY CASTLE. 

H OW pale and faint, how phantom-like, it seems, — 
That vague and vaporous Castle, dimly bright ! 
From cloudy battlements burst on the sight 
Ethereal valleys and innumerous streams. 

Inside, a golden-vaulted gallery gleams 

With troops of luminous spirits which alight 
When Day drops down the drawbridge for the Night. 
It is the airy castle of my Dreams. 

From shadowy turrets dim my soul commands 
The spirit of the cloud ; nightly I mark 
The paths of stars. Oh, no assaulting bands — 

No hounds of Care swarm at the gate and bark ; 

And when Sleep comes, the winged Warden’s hands 
Let fall the still portcullis of the dark. 


Lloyd Mifflin. 


POINT vs. TRUTH. 


121 


POINT VS. TRUTH. 


CONCIO AD SCRIPTORES. 


HEN what one says is not listened to or not remembered, it may be because 



* * there is nothing notable in the matter of his discourse, or (we will suppose 
more probably) because he has not mastered the art of putting things. Many 
sermons of unimpeachable orthodoxy go in at one ear and out at the other. 
“ Why is it,” the parson asked of Garrick, “ that men receive your fictions with 
so much more avidity than our truths?” “Because,” the great actor replied, 
“ we deliver our fictions as if they were truths, while you are apt to present your 
truths as if they were fictions.” Tastes and fashions vary ; but, as a rule, a 
weapon must be pointed if it is to pierce. 

An ounce of example is worth a pound (or sometimes a ton) of precept, so 
I had better illustrate at once. Take the case of Josiah Quincy the second, 
a vigorous and original man, who was always saying or doing something effec- 
tive, whether it were exactly right or not. He was one of the first abolitionists, 
which many of us would consider creditable, and perhaps the first avowed seces- 
. sionist, which was less so. He agitated in these interests twenty-odd years 
before Garrison and his followers at one end, and Calhoun and McDuffie at the 
other, took them up. Glance at his famous speech of January 4, 1811, against 
the admission of Louisiana to the Union. “ Why, sir, I have already heard of 
six States, and some say there will at no great distance of time be more, . . . 
that the mouth of the Ohio will be far to the east of the centre of the con- 
templated empire. ... It was not for these men that our fathers fought. It 
was not for them this Constitution was adopted. You have no authority to 
throw the rights and liberties and property of this people into hotchpot with 
the wild men on the Missouri, or with the mixed though more respectable race 
of Anglo-Hispano-Gallo-Americans who bask in the sands at the mouth of the 
Mississippi. ... If this bill passes, the bonds of this Union are virtually dis- 
solved ; the States which compose it are free from their obligations ; and as it 
will be the right of all, so it will be the duty of some, to prepare definitely for 
a separation, — amicably if they can, violently if they must.” 

Now that (except the reluctant and quoted prediction of the future, but 
then far distant, greatness of the West) was about as wrong as anything could 
be. It was grossly discourteous, and monstrously unjust, and the opposite of 
what we consider American and statesmanlike. The avowed motive of it was 
narrowly sectional ; and the argument, in our modern ears, sounds almost im- 
pudently false. But what of that? It was not spoken yesterday, but eighty 
years ago, when these topics were newly opened to discussion. And here is the 
point : it was full of life and force ; it roused attention then, and is remembered 
still. We may be sure there were no sleepers on the floor of the House just then, 
and the Southern members were men enough to respect so bright and bold an 
orator. It was not as if he were merely bidding for notoriety, aiming for a 
sensation at whatever price. Of course he believed what he said ; his error 
was truth to him at the moment, and probably for some months or years after. 
There is no real eloquence without sincerity. 

Again, take two of the most gifted, and earnest, and mistaken men who 


122 


POINT vs. TRUTH. 


ever meddled with home politics, Yancey and Vallandighaui. They were 
fatally off the track, if you like; the stars in their courses fought against them ; 
they built a temple to Satan when they meant it for the Lord. But they had 
the courage of their mistakes; huge assemblies quivered at the terrors or 
yielded to the persuasions of their misleading oratory, and bowed before, or rose 
in wrath against, the good logic which supported their bad premises and led to 
their ruinous conclusions. They did at least a portion of what they aimed to 
do : one of them split his party and forced a third of the States into secession, 
the other made a great administration tremble. How did they do it? By 
having something to say, and knowing how to say it ; by wielding weapons that 
were both strong and sharp. 

It would be easy to multiply illustrations, and to take them from sources 
other than the stump and the forum. These, like the journal and the three- 
volume novel, are vehicles or adjuncts of literature; all employ matter and 
style of some sort, and all require the presence or the semblance of brains. 
Whether we speak or write, in class-room or pulpit or study or sanctum, we 
want to hit and hold our audience, to give them something to chew upon, to 
enlarge their horizon if that is in us, to help them if we can in the storage 
and distribution of mental food, to add strength and nimbleness to their cere- 
bral processes as well as to our own. 

My contention is this : if we wait for definite and final truth to come to 
us, we may wait till the millennium. We live to learn, and he who is not 
growing should be under ground. Of course when we are older we will say, “ I 
could do this better now,” and “ I shouldn’t have done that at all.” When ripe 
wisdom comes, perhaps the will or the power to utter it will have gone. Let 
each of us hold to what seems true and fit, until he gets more light ; for as he 
thinketh in his heart so is he, and as he thinks of things outside himself, so are 
those things’ to him. Remember Goldsmith’s wise preface to his “ Vicar “ A 
book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a 
single absurdity.” ’Ware dulness, sisters and brethren, for that is the unpar- 
donable sin, — in us who drive the pen, worse even than dishonesty. As we 
value our professional salvation, let us aim at pith and point. I mean not 
merely on the surface : the steel must be good that will bear much sharpening, 
and if it be not sharpened the temper might as well be poor. 

These alphabetic counsels are not for all. Silence is the virtue of the 
speechless, and he that cannot write may harmlessly read and meditate, or labor 
usefully at other and not of necessity less honorable trades. Whoso hath no 
ideas, let the outpourings of his laboring brain be vented at the domestic fire- 
side or on the statesmen at the corner store ; and he who hath ideas but cannot 
utter them, let him grind his faculties against the sharp edges of Balzac or 
Meredith or Matthew Arnold, and — perchance — the power he lacks shall be 
given him. For us who write, let us neither be content to dwell on the flats of 
commonplace, nor spend our strength in soaring after the unutterable or diving 
into the infinite, but keep our eyes wide open and our pencils ground to their 
finest point. 


Robert Tinisol. 


TRUTH vs. POINT. 


123 


TRUTH vs. POINT. 

Whoever argues, in whatever interest, against Truth is extremely apt to * 
get the worst of the argument. Certain old saws and scraps of verse rise unbid- 
den in the mind, about Truth being mighty and prevailing, and rising again 
though crushed to earth. In fact, she seems to endure a great many tumbles, 
but to possess a happy faculty of always getting up again ; for this goddess, 
apart from her more solemn and staying qualities, is a nimble athlete, and de- 
clines to be permanently downed. It is all very well to say that people like to 
be gulled, that error of every sort will meet with favor, and so on ; but that is 
not all the story. After vexatious delays, the case is usually carried up to a 
higher court, and the unrighteous verdict is reversed. Columbus was sent home 
in chains, and died, they say, in neglect and poverty ; but we think a good deal 
of him now, and are getting up a big show here, and another at Madrid, in his 
honor. Galileo was driven to recant; but the earth still moves, and we all 
know it as well as he did then. His name recalls one of the titles of an earlier 
and greater discoverer, who seemed to be effectually put down at the time ; but 
his cause got up again, and to such a height that a number of able emperors 
used vigorous measures against it; and the last of these (a very superior man) 
had to give up the contest, whether or no he admitted in his dying hour that 
the Galilean had conquered. The victory in the long run is apt to be with 
Truth, and with such ideas and lives as have enlisted — not merely in intention, 
but by at least comparative perception — in her service. It may be a very long 
run, and the wise will endeavor meanwhile to avoid snap-judgments; but the 
affair is settled sooner or later, sometimes in a millennium or two, sometimes 
within a generation, — and then we know which side to applaud, and have few 
laurels to waste on those who fought in the wrong army. 

Of course I have no quarrel with Mr. Timsol’s contention on behalf of Point, 
except that he carries it too far, — as is the way of the special pleader. He looks 
into the case only on its shallower side, and omits one factor in the sum, the 
existence of which he would scarcely venture to deny. Point is a fine thing, 
but not by any means the finest: the finest thing is to be on the right side. And 
this is so everywhere and always,— unless, indeed, one is thinking only of the 
moment and of making his pile. Mr. Timsol is not talking of the muckworms 
who are in politics from strictly business reasons, but of real men who had their 
ideas and lived and died by them. Take his own examples, carry them a little 
further, and see what comes. 

What comes of the inquiry is this : Quincy’s great speech, so far as it is 
remembered at all, is remembered for its absurdity more than for its pluck and 
eloquence. The House may have listened to it seriously in 1811, but when we 
read it now we want to laugh. And behind the laughter rises an ominous whis- 
per, which presently shapes itself into an uncomplimentary word not known in 
Quincy’s day,— “ Crank !” 

In the other cases not an episode, but a whole career, is handled. Grant 
all the personal qualities claimed for Yancey and Vallandigham ; the epitaph 
to be carved on their already mouldering tombstones is, “ Worthy of a better 
cause.” What is the use of misdirected abilities and courage, except to fill the 
newspapers at the moment and to “ make history” for a few years after? As for 


TRUTH vs. POINT. 


124 

mental and moral traits, we have enough examples of them on the right side. 
It is only of late that the world has come to admit the supreme importance of 
character as independent of conditions, the possibility of good intentions behind 
what the logic of events has stamped as bad conduct ; and plain people still feel 
that there must have been something loose about men who, with the best mo- 
tives, blundered into the wrong camp at the battle of Armageddon and did their 
best to smash things in general and to set up the Abbot of Unreason and the 
Lord of Misrule. Point! If their weapons had been less sharp they would 
have done less mischief. In less than a generation these people have been 
labelled and placed in the cabinet, with a pin through each and a description 
over his head. In fifty years more they may get ten lines apiece in the cyclo- 
psedias and biographical dictionaries as specinmns (judged by the curious con- 
glomerate of their qualities and results) of morbid psychology. 

Their names suggest another, which Mr. Timsol neglects to cite. Chief 
Justice Taney. Judged by his own standards, he was a blameless Christian 
gentleman, a model of all the virtues. He was as sincere, as disinterested, and 
as fearless as Sumner, — and as much of a doctrinaire. His character, and his 
state papers too, had pith and point in abundance, and he mightily infiuenced 
the course of our home history ; but not quite as he had intended, for it was his 
fate to swim up-stream. When the Dred Scott decision came, and the war 
after it, his lofty purity and his vast learning were overlooked. During his last 
years the few who tried to keep their heads cool regarded him as a withered and 
petticoatless Mrs. Partington, trying to sweep back the tide, while most in the 
North coupled him with Judas and Benedict Arnold. Even the Atlantic (Feb- 
ruary, 1865) consigned him to “ infamous remembrance.” We know better now ; 
but there is something warped and futile about his memory which would be 
missing if he had been able to see things as we see them now, and as many of 
less gifts managed to see them then. 

For our purpose the notables among mankind are divisible into three classes : 
the lost souls, who had their portion here and now, and sought and found noth- 
ing permanent ; the elect, who did the right thing in the right spirit, — who “ got 
there” in the best sense, and took their fellows along; and an intermediate set 
in limbo, whose hearts were right but their heads mixed, so that they wore the 
wrong uniform and did more harm than good. These last, according to St. Paul 
and F. W. Robertson, having built amiss on the true foundation, escape naked 
when their houses are burned over their heads, and have no works to show. It 
looks as if their faith were a little crooked too, for a man ought not only to 
love and seek Truth, but to be able in some sort to distinguish between the true 
and the false. What else were his brains given him for? 

The strongest part of Mr. Timsol’s plea is for what used to be called notional 
truth, as against the definite and final, which is out of reach. In the large sense, 
of course it is. If, as Renan says, “ the gods vanish, but the divine remains,” 
this is the divinest thing we know, and as such in its fulness of necessity beyond 
us. If the gods or any of them abide, this is their vesture and habiliment, not 
to be grasped and comprehended, except in such of its trailing folds as may 
touch this planet. In profound or transcendent matters it is permissible to err ; 
but on topics within reach of reason and experience we are responsible for our 
thoughts as well as for our intentions. Healthy and educated instincts also 
should go for something. As between such opposites as rotten monarchy and 
competent republic, czardom and its victims, or liberty for all and inherited 


CERTAIN POINTS OF STYLE IN WRITING. 


125 


servitude for some, the choice should not be difficult. Philip II., liar and in- 
triguer as he was, was probably as sincere in his politics and religion as the 
Prince of Orange, but history has settled their account. It was not chiefly in 
the point of his sword or of his diplomacy or of his proclamations that Wil- 
liam’s greatness lay. We honor him and others of his order because their heads 
were as sound as their hearts, because they made no fatal blunders, because they 
not only sought but served the Truth. 

Frederic M. Bird. 


CERTAIN POINTS OF STYLE IN WRITING. 

We have all heard, for a good while, of the persecuted adjective, but now- 
adays, with some writers, the persecuted polysyllable might also be instanced. 
In Tennyson’s “ Idylls” it is little short of marvellous how that great master 
employed one general succession of short words. Now the English language is 
by no means rich in short words. To produce the effect of Saxon simplicity 
which in “ Elaine,” “ Enid,” or “ Guenevere” Tennyson did produce, he must 
have studied the language with an immense loving care, at once philological 
and aesthetic. We have no reason to believe that Tennyson has ever despised 
the polysyllable. On the contrary, even in his most repressed and compact 
verse he suddenly delights us by its appearance. For example, amid the tersest 
kind of composition, we meet a line like 

With accusation of uxoriousness ; 

or again, when he is referring to the guilt of Arthur’s queen. 

The sombre close of that voluptuous day. 

Here “voluptuous,” always a perilous word in poetry, becomes invested'with a 
subtle freshness by its trim and monosyllabic context. And yet Tennyson has 
sung in stanzas, even in blank-verse pentameters, with extreme wordy copious- 
ness. Witness that strangely original poem, “ Boadicea,” where it is difficult to 
believe that the author of “ Enoch Arden” audaciously and most volubly wrote — 

Phantom wail of women and children, multitudinous agonies, 
or 

Thine the myriad-rolling ocean, light and shadow illimitable. 

But if it be insisted that “ Boadicea” was, after all, only an “ experiment,” what 
shall we say to the many polysyllabic lines in “ Lucretius” ? An authority 
whom Tennyson gives constant signs of having devoutly pondered and profited 
by — no less an authority, in fact, than Shakespeare himself— reveals, perhaps,, 
more monosyllabic succinctness than almost any other of the famous English 
classics. “Infinite riches in a little room” is not a line written by Shake- 
speare, but it well expresses his astonishing capacity for packing the most preg- 
nant significance into a few brief words and phrases. There is, indeed, a kind 
of divine economy of treatment in Shakespeare which has never been surpassed 
or equalled. We find it in such lines as 

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear, 


CERTAIN POINTS OF STYLE IN WRITING. 


126 

and we find it where Hamlet says— 

And to my mind, though I am native here, 

And to the manner born, it is a custom 

More honored in the breach than the observance. 

But such examples are multitudinous, as every one knows. Shakespeare, how- 
ever, could fairly revel in polysyllabic redundancies when so minded. To 
Milton, his one mighty rival in technical splendors and his real superior in 
resonance and flexibility of blank-verse method, it may be said that the poly- 
syllable was exceedingly dear. Milton was in love with Virgil’s epic, and 
rolling Latinity of utterance for this reason came natural to him. 

Fashion, which has always been so cogent a force in literature, now declares 
itself a worshipper of brevity and condensation. How long this order of things 
will continue it is impossible to decide. The truth is, both forms are a delight 
when well done. Mr. Walter Pater cultivates simplicity of verbal presentment, 
yet will not be held successful in the estimate of any right-minded judge. _ All 
that Mr. Pater achieves is an ensemble of great afiectation. He produces the 
impression upon all unprejudiced observers that he is insincere, that he solely 
writes for the mere sake of posturing as a passionate aesthete. Some one said, 
two or three years ago, that Mr. Pater had “ style,” and the reputation of having 
it has clung to him ever since. But in reality he has it not ; many of his sen- 
tences are discord itself; he will repeat “in” and “ with” and “for” and “ by ’ 
in the same or neighboring clauses until the ring of it all becomes tediously 
amateurish. He evidently believes that he possesses rhythm in his prose, but 
he almost wholly lacks it. “ Marius, the Epicurean,” is a work at once in- 
volved, attitudinizing, and sadly pedantic. 

Mr. Henry James has always shown a leaning toward the polysyllable, and 
for a writer so desirous of fine and delicate shadings any other style would have 
been the most incomplete of mediums. The flute of a man like Mr. James 
must be one of many stops, else adequately to play upon it would be impos- 
sible. “A Passionate Pilgrim,” “Roderick Hudson,” “The American,” and 
“ The Portrait of a Lady” are necessarily polysyllabic stories. With George 
Eliot it is very much the same affair. She burdens her prose with polysyllables, 
at times, and in “ Daniel Deronda” the tendency became almost a vice. The 
“ dynamic quality” of Guendolen’s glance, in the first paragraph of the book, 
struck a note of pretentiousness that does not really cease until the last chapter. 
And yet, when all is said, one cannot but feel that George Eliot and Mr. James 
have both in the main been right. The genius of the English language is essen- 
tially polysyllabic. Dr. Johnson may have carried things to a fatal extreme, 
but Addison did not, and when the editor of The Edinburgh Review inquired con- 
cerning the young Macaulay, after receiving his essay on Milton, where he had 
“ picked up that magnificent style,” it was a eulogy by no means undeserved. 

A clever man once said to me, in speaking of the novels of the late Anthony 
Trollope, that he always read them with a peculiar sense of tickled vanity, as 
though half convinced that he “ could do it all himself if he tried.” Neither 
he nor any man could have done it all himself, no matter how hard he 
might have tried ; for although Trollope, even in his earlier and best novels, 
was tautological and prolix, there nevertheless breathed an atmospheric fra- 
grance about “ The Bertrams” and “ Barchester Towers” and “ The Small 
House at Allington” which no imitation would have touched. Afterward this 


MEN OF THE DAY. 


127 


fragrance almost entirely fled, and a novel like “ Is He Popenjoy?” compared 
with the delightful shrewdness and worldly-wisdom of “ Miss Mackenzie” as a 
photogravure compares with an etching. But Trollope, notwithstanding much 
really unworthy work in the last decade or so of his life, remains a very distinct 
personality in English letters. And at his finest I should say that he is perhaps 
the very opposite of that “ divine amateur” (as some cynic in London not long 
ago called him), Mr. Andrew Lang. It turns out, when we read Trollope’s 
autobiography, that he was considerable of a scholar. Mr. Lang is apparently 
a scholar, too, and an extremely earnest one. But while Trollope kept scholar- 
ship and the sense of literary form rigidly in the background, Mr. Lang is 
incessantly thrusting them into the foreground. The former is forever conceal- 
ing from us how much he knows ; the latter is constantly revealing it. He 
often reveals it in a very pretty and winsome way, but it is, after all, a way dis- 
heartening to the general reader. If Mr. Lang were a greater personage one 
might imagine that he could secure the reverence of his readers for a sort of 
encyclopaedic omniscience. But he seemingly aims to be thought the reverse of 
great — to be thought, in fact, “ delightful” and “ rare” and “ bookish.” I am not 
sure that he does not often thoroughly succeed in carrying out these intentions, 
but one is tempted sometimes to marvel just how he stands with the ubiquitous 
Ignoramus among those who peruse him. It is not a new style, this of Mr. 
Lang’s, and at best there is a clear pose in it. He looks, let us say, at a sunset, and, 
lo, we are told what Charles Lamb had to say on some particular occasion about 
a particular sunset, to this or that intimate friend. He walks in Fleet Street and 
glances at the book-shops, and Sydney Smith’s remark about a certain kind of 
old book or new book immediately confronts us. His pages are dotted with allu- 
sions to the dead (not often to the living, for Mr. Lang, like the sort of character 
he is, does not often concern himself with the living) until we now and then won- 
der if the author be not writing a biographical dictionary on some new and 
astute principle. This writer’s style does not merely smell of the student’s 
lamp ; it is rankly oleaginous with it. And if to the nostrils of his readers his 
oil wafts a fascinating odor (which I have repeatedly been told is true), why, 
all the luckier for Mr. Lang. Edgar Faivcett. 


MEN OF THE DAY. 

A lexandre DUMAS is an extremely bald-headed man, of stalwart build, 
with a floridly tanned face deeply lined, a heavy moustache, and a fringe 
of curly hair that looks like white wool. His flashing black eyes, eloquent 
gestures, and stately bearing combine to make him a very conspicuous figure, 
while the brilliancy of his talk and the warmth of his nature open all doors to 
him. He is rising nine-and-sixty years of age, and has been play writing during 
six-and-forty of them. It is now more than four decades since he produced 
that “ Dame aux Camellias” which first caused his countrymen to admire him. 
In all his works he calls a spade a spade, and he often hits a nail very hard on 
the head, — so hard, indeed, that the instinctive feeling of the public has always 
been to take oflence. Yet withal it never fails to submit. In the conduct of 
his dramas he has never been known to make a mistake. This is undoubtedly 
due to the fact that he was literally born behind the scenes and has lived there 


128 


MEN OF THE DAY. 


ever since. He was elected one of the “ Immortals” in 1874, and is one of the 
few surviving giants in that decadent assemblage. Like most men of genius, 
he has his hobby. On Sunday mornings he is invariably to be found, feather 
duster in hand, cleaning, moving, and changing about the furniture in his 
library. He will not tolerate any assistance. He has amassed an ample for- 
tune. He now asks something like six thousand dollars for a new play, and he 
gets what he asks. Yet he is ever ready to lend a helping hand to young writers 
who are struggling against the buffets of fortune. Not long since he resorted to 
a novel scheme with a view to accomplish this end. He said that the preference 
of managers for the works of dramatists of established reputation prevents many 
new plays of decided merit from obtaining a hearing, and declared that he would 
teach them a lesson. So he wrote a play, had it copied in a feminine hand 
and signed with an assumed name, and sent it to one of the leading theatrical 
managers in Paris, there being no clue whatever to the authorship. Then he 
made a public announcement of what he had done, stating that if the manu- 
script was rejected he would send it to another manager, and so on until it was 
accepted by some one or rejected by all, adding that to the manager who ac- 
cepted it he would give the play for nothing. By this means he hoped to secure 
careful consideration of many works by unknown authors which might not 
otherwise be judged on their merits, as every manager would naturally be 
careful to examine all manuscripts, in the hope of detecting the work of the 
master. The result of this experiment has not yet been announced. . 

Secretary Hoke Smith walks six foot two, and is built accordingly, his 
shoulders being types of the tremendous. He has a plump clean-shaven face, 
beaming with good health and good nature ; small, blue, deep-set eyes ; high 
cheek-bones, and short hair which stands up straight. He is only eight-and- 
thirty. A native of North Carolina, he removed to Georgia with his parents 
while yet a boy, and, after receiving his education in the Atlanta schools, be- 
came principal of the Girls’ High School. While instructing pupils there he 
studied law and was admitted to the bar. This was in 1876. He soon built 
up a splendid practice, which was accounted to be the biggest in the South, and 
he is said to have sacrificed something like fifty thousand dollars a year for a 
seat in the Cabinet. He was most frequently retained in suits against railroads 
which tried to gobble up land >vithout paying for it, and for years he has been 
known as the fearless enemy of grasping corporations. Some years ago he 
purchased the Atlanta Journal, and under his management it became one of 
the leading daily papers of the South. He is known as the “ original Cleveland 
man from Georgia,” having espoused the President’s cause when he was in 
need of friends in that State. Perhaps his most notable political feat was to 
transform the Georgia delegation to Chicago from a Hill to a Cleveland dele- 
gation. In this way he achieved a national reputation as a politician, and he 
has duly entered into his reward in the shape of the most weighty portfolio 
in the Cabinet. He is a glutton for work. He works on an average fifteen 
hours a day, and sometimes more, but often does not get through half his busi- 
ness. Next to “ Dan” Lamont, he is the favorite victim of the oflSce-seekers. 
Though strongly opposed to appointing women to public office, he is a devoted 
family man, who drinks nothing stronger than water ; he has a horror of growing 
fat, and in hie leisure moments he indulges in boxing. He cuts a fine figure on 
horseback. 


M. Crofion. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


129 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 

To the reader untravelled in the wastes of Arizona nothing 
srcaptoiif^ariM ^ould more vividly reveal the blazing heat, the “ brown- 
King, u.s.A. blanket” of scorched verdure, the wide stretches to the moun- 

tains, and the low adobe ranches, than Captain King’s clever 
pen-pictures. He is master of a flowing style which can touch off a scene with 
a few skilled strokes or bring forward a man or a woman as if by photography; 
but, far better than photographs, Captain King’s people are actually alive. 

In such a land as this he has placed his last story. Foes in Ambush, just from 
the Lippincott press ; and through mid-day sun and the hot midnight the reader 
pursues the fortunes of his brave men and fair women at a breathless pace until 
the last page is turned with a deep regret that all is done. 

Briefly stated, the story tells of the plot of a band of Mexican desperadoes, 
who, in league with the keeper of a station, conspire to rob an army paymaster 
who stops there on his rounds. False intelligence is sent the paymaster of the 
capture of Mr. Harvey’s daughters, who are to meet their father at “ Moreno’s,” 
and this induces the oflScer to order some of his guard to the ladies’ rescue. 
Other devices to lessen his force are put forward ; and, at last, with but a hand- 
ful of men he is obliged to stand the siege of foes without and within, who 
finally capture the place and carry away the booty. The pursuit of these out- 
laws into the rocky hills, with a spirited fight with Apaches in a defile, and 
finally in a cave where the ladies and Lieutenant Lockwood’s small command 
are imprisoned, is one of Captain King’s best pieces of adventure : irresistible 
in interest, enlivening in motion, and full of such sentiment and courage as he 
knows best of all writers on American frontier life how to treat with manly 
force and tenderness. To reveal more of the capital plot would deprive the 
reader of the intense pleasure of watching its development, but it is safe to 
say that among all the author’s previous successes none has surpassed this tale 
in absorbing interest and in power to annihilate time and place for the reader. 


The Man of Feeling. “ You must know,” wrote Burns to Mrs. Dunlop long ago, “ I 
By Henry Macken- have just met with the Mirror and Lounger for the first time, 
zie. Illustrated by and I am quite in raptures with them. The one I have just 
Cooke.*^” ** * read, Ah. 61, has cost me more honest tears than any- 

thing I have read of a long time.” The author of these two 
collections of essays was also the author of The Man of Feeling ; and if honest 
tears and gentle good humor are not quite extinct among us, this ripe and genial 
book will beget them in all sensitive souls to-day, as did the Lounger in Robert 
Burns in 1790. 

Henry Mackenzie is one of those shy authors whose place in English letters 
is fixed among the best company, the gentlest wits, the masters of quiet pathos, 
in spite of his invincible modesty. The Man of Feeling has brought delight and 
comfort to three or four generations of readers since its anonymous issue in 
1771, and in each of these periods there has been a demand for the book like 
that perennial one for Rah and his Friends or The Citizen of the World: com- 
panions which each of us likes best to keep to himself in a little shrine lifted 
VoL. Lll.— 9 


130 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


to quietude and contentment of spirit. Loud books which appeal to the whole 
world, we all of us know and value; but, like a comrade one draws aside to, for 
tranquil diversion, The Man of Feeling is essentially a quiet book, fit for the 
season of twilight or to be read when the lamps are lit on summer evenings. 
Externally, the present edition, published by the J. B. Lippincott Company in 
union with Messrs. J. M. Dent & Co., of London, is in every respect worthy of 
the contents. Soft green binding of satine with shapely gold letters ; excel- 
lent toned paper and agreeable type ; a portrait and illustrations of permanent 
value as pictures and sympathetic additions to the text ; and a size that invites 
the volume into one’s side-pocket : these are sufficient warrants for possessing 
The Man of Feeling even if its charms were less than the whole world of readers 
knows it to be. 

There are small olympiads in the lives of readers as well as 
Found Wanting, large ones in the history of nations. It was a memorable 
By Mrs. Alexander, (j^y when the “ green-covers” of Dickens came forth ; and, 
with those who have gone far into comradeship with Mrs. 
Alexander’s people, it is a red-letter event when that inexhaustible writer intro- 
duces us to a whole new book-full of her creations. The pleasure of anticipa- 
tion is never disappointed by Mrs. Alexander: she is always better than we 
fancy her to be ; and in this last book. Found Wanting, just put forth by the 
Lippincotts, she has surpassed herself as usual by “ breaking the record,” so to 
speak, in plot, prose, and people. 

This is the story of May Eiddell, who leads a pensive little life, first with 
her whimsical father, then with a Miss Macallan, who i.s chosen as her protec- 
tress by a Mr. Ogilvie, an elderly lover disguised as a friend. This canny gentle- 
man proposes to marry for wealth where he does not love, and to take May to 
his house as an inmate ; but she escapes this woe and shame by a timely event 
which rounds out the story and balances the account of the self-seeking lover. 

There is a contagion in such a book as this which no one can escape who 
embarks upon the first page. 

As if to mark the advent of the warm season, two notable 
novels of the Select Lippincott group, which have* remained 
all winter in comfortable boards, have now put on a light 
paper garb suitable for the summer days. These are Bar- 
bara Bering and Broken Chords, the first by Amalie Rives, 
the other by Mrs. George McClellan ; and it would be hard 
to find two books more adapted for reading all the year 
round than these two brilliant love-stories, both depicting the chain of events 
which slowly develops from an error in love. 


Barbara Bering. 
By Amilie Rives. 
Broken Chords. By 
Mrs. George Mc- 
Clellan. Paper 
cover editions. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


131 


SOME SANITARY ASPECTS OF BREAD-MAKING. 

D r. CYRUS EDSON, Health Commissioner of New York City, in an article 
in “ The Doctor of Hygiene,” calls attention to the danger of spreading 
various contagious diseases through the medium of ordinary yeast-made bread. 

“ I do not wish to pose as an alarmist,” writes Dr. Edson, “ nor am I will- 
ing to say there is very much chance of the germs of typhus and of cholera 
reaching the stomachs of the people who eat bread which has been raised with 
yeast, because the germs would be killed were the bread thoroughly cooked, and 
because the germs of th*ese diseases are too carefully looked after to make it 
probable that they would find their way into the dough. But, while I am not 
afraid that cholera and typhus will be greatly spread by yeast-raised bread, I 
have not the slightest cause to doubt that other diseases have been and will be 
carried about in the bread. 

“ I have met journeymen bakers, suffering from cutaneous diseases, work- 
ing the dough in the bread-trough with naked hands and arms. I have no 
reason to suppose bakers are less liable to cutaneous diseases than are other 
men, and I know, as every housewife knows, yeast-raised bread must be worked 
a long time. This is an exceedingly objectionable thing from the stand-point 
of a physician, for the reason that the germs of disease which are in the air 
and dust and on stairways and straps in street-cars are most often collected on 
the hands. Any person who has ever kneaded dough understand^ the way in 
which the dough cleans the hands. In other words, this means that any germs 
which may have found a lodging-place on the hands of the baker before he 
makes up his batch of bread are sure to find their way into the dough, and, 
once there, to find all the conditions necessary for subdivision and growth. 
No one but a physician would be apt to think of disease-germs which have not 
been killed during the process of baking as a cause of the sickness following 
the use of not thoroughly cooked yeast bread. Yet this result from this cause 
is more than probable. I have not the slightest doubt that could we trace back 
some of the cases of illness which we meet in our practice we would find that 
germs collected by the baker have found their way into the yeast bread, that 
the heat has not been sufficient to destroy them, that the uncooked yeast bread 
has been eaten, and with it the colonies of germs, that they have found their 
way into the blood, and that the call for our services which followed has 
rounded off this sequence of events. 

“ I have already pointed out that the germs of disease are to be found in 
the air and dust. The longer any substance to be eaten is exposed to the air, 
the greater the chance that germs will be deposited on it. Bread raised with 
yeast is worked down or kneaded twice before being baked, and this process 
may take anywhere from four hours to ten. It has, then, the chance of collect- 
ing disease-germs during this process of raising, and it has two periods of work- 
ing down or kneading, during each of which it may gather the dirt containing 
the germs from the baker’s hands or feet. As no bread save that raised with 


132 


CURRENT NOTES. 


yeast goes through this long process of raising and kneading, so no bread save 
that raised with yeast has so good a chance of gathering germs. 

“ The fermentation of the dough also uses up a portion of the nutrient ele- 
ments of the loaf. If it be possible, therefore, to produce a light porous loaf 
without this destruction and without the kneading ‘process,’ which fills the 
dough with germs and filth, and without the long period during which the 
raising process goes on, the gain in food and the gain in the avoidance of the 
germs is exceedingly plain. Now, it is in no way difllicult to produce carbonic 
acid gas chemically, but when we are working at bread we must use such 
chemicals as are perfectly healthful. Fortunately, these are not hard to find. 

“ The evils which attend the yeast-made bread are obviated by the use of 
a properly made, pure, and wholesome baking-powder in lieu of yeast. Baking- 
powders are composed of an acid and an alkali, which, if properly combined, 
should when they unite at once destroy themselves and produce carbonic acid 
gas. A good baking-powder does its work while the loaf is in the oven, and, 
having done it, disappears. * 

“ But care is imperative in selecting the brand of baking-powder to be cer- 
tain that it is composed of non-injurious chemicals. Powders containing alum, 
or those which are compounded from impure ingredients, or those which are 
not combined in proper proportion or carefully mixed, and which will leave 
either an acid or an alkali in the bread, must not be used. 

“ The best baking-powder made is, as shown by analysis, the ‘ Eoyal.’ It 
contains absolutely nothing but cream of tartar and soda, refined to a chemical 
purity, which when combined under the influence of heat and moisture pro- 
duce carbonic acid gas, and, having done this, disappear. Its leavening strength 
has been found superior to other baking-powders, and, as far as I know, it is the 
only powder which will raise large bread perfectly. Its use avoids the long 
period during which the yeast-made dough must stand in order that the starch 
may fermeit, and there is also no kneading necessary. 

“ The two materials used in the ‘ Royal’ — cream of tartar and soda — are per- 
fectly harmless even when eaten. But they are combined in exact compensating 
weights, so that when chemical action begins between them they practically dis- 
appear, the substance of both having been taken up to form the carbonic acid 
gas. More than this, the proper method of using the powder insures the most 
thorough mixing with the flour. The proper quantity being taken, it is mixed 
with the flour and stirred round in it. The mixture is then sifted several times, 
and this insures that in every part of the flour there shall be a few particles of 
the powder. The salt and milk or water being added, the dough is made up as 
quickly as possible and moulded into loaves. 

“These are placed in the oven and baked. But the very moment the 
warmth and moisture attack the mixture of cream of tartar and soda, these 
two ingredients chemically combine, and carbonic acid or leavening gas is 
evolved. The consequence may be seen at a glance : the bread is raised during 
the time it is baking in the oven, and this is the most perfect of all conceivable 
methods of raising it. 

“ Here, then, there is no chance for germs of disease to get into the dough 
and thence into the stomach ; more than that, the bread is necessarily as sweet 
as possible, there having been no time during which it could sour. This in- 
volves the fact that the bread so made will keep longer, as it is less likely to be 
contaminated by the germs that effect the souring process. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


1S3 


“ During the coming summer we shall have cholera knocking at our gates, 
and it remains to be seen whether it will get in. It will be strange if the 
crowds of visitors to the World’s Fair do not greatly increase the number of 
cases of contagious disease which we will have to treat. Under these circum- 
stances, is it not folly of follies to open a single channel through which these 
germs may reach us ? Is it not the part of wisdom to watch with the greatest 
care all that we eat and drink, and to see that none but the safest and best 
methods are employed in the preparation of our food? To me it seems as 
though there could be but one answer to questions like these. 

“ I have shown the danger of using the yeast-raised bread, and with this I 
have shown how that danger may be avoided. The ounce of prevention, which 
in this case is neither difficult nor expensive, is certainly worth many pounds of 
cure, and the best thing about it is that it may be relied on almost absolutely. 
Those who during the coming summer eat bread or biscuits or rolls made at 
home with ‘ Royal’ baking-powder may be sure they have absolutely stopped 
one channel through which disease may reach them.” 

Remembered All the Names. — A good story is told of a bright young 
American and several German officers who, at a dinner one evening, set out to 
make him uncomfortable by chaffing him about his country. The young man 
is Albert H. Washburn, the United States consular agent at Magdeburg, and 
the story is told by the Albany Journal; 

“ Henry F. Merritt, then consul at Chemnitz, was the first one of the 
Americans attacked with a taunt from one of the Germans that he could not 
give the names of the Presidents of the United States. Merritt named them 
over with some deliberation, and drew from his German friend the declaration 
that he did not believe that there was another American present who could do 
it. Young Washburn had said nothing until now ; but he broke in and declared, 
‘ I can do it, and I will give you the Vice-Presidents.’ He was about to begin, 
when a second thought struck him, and he said, ‘ While I am about it, I might 
as well give you the Secretaries of State too.’ 

“ The Germans got down a book giving the names, and kept tabs on the 
young man as he correctly went through the list. They were pretty well backed 
down already, but Washburn had no idea of letting them off so easily. ‘Now 
I would like to know,’ he said, ‘ whether any of you can give the names of the 
Prussian rulers from the time of Charlemagne and his sons down to the Emperor 
William ?’ 

“The Germans were completely floored. Not one of them could go half 
through the list, and they were on the point of apologizing to the young Massa- 
chusetts scholar, when he took them down still more by modestly suggesting, 
‘ Perhaps I had better do it for you.’ 

“ He began with Charlemagne, and went through the list without a break, 
much to the astonishment of his German hosts and the delight of Consul Ed- 
wards and the other Americans. ‘How did you do it?’ asked Merritt. 

“ ‘ Oh, my father had a taste for such things, and taught them to me when 
I was a boy, and you see they are sometimes useful to know,’ he quietly 
replied.” 

Post-Office Clerk. — “ No address on this letter, miss.” 

Miss Simple. — “Oh, yes; it’s under the stamp.” — The Wasp. 


134 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Skittish Doctor. — Dr. S was noted among his professional 

brethren for his power of concentration. When once he bent his mind to a 
problem he became totally oblivious of everything about him. 

The doctor had a horse that was almost as famous as himself. Among her 
peculiarities was the habit of shying. She would not shy at things which most 
horses consider fit subjects for that sort of digression. She would pay no atten- 
tion whatever to a newspaper blowing about the streets, but was mortally afraid 
of a covered wagon. At the sight of one of New Haven’s suburban stages she 
would run over the curbstone and threaten not only the doctor’s life but that 
of the chance passer. Of this habit she could not be broken. It seemed as 
though she could smell a stage long before it came in sight, so that the doctor 
would go half a dozen blocks out of his way rather than meet one. Early one 
morning he received a telephone call to the effect that one of his patients had 
become alarmingly worse. Without waiting for his carriage, he started to walk, 
the distance being about a mile. His mind became at once absorbed in the 
case, but not so much so that he did not remember that the course of the Sey- 
mour stage lay right in his path. He looked at his watch and saw that he 
would be sure to meet it if he went the shortest way. He was in a hurry to 
get to his patient, but there was no help for it. He uttered a malediction over the 
circumstance, and turned off at the first corner. This obliged him to nearly 
double the distance, and the day was warm. He walked as he never walked 
before, and failed to recognize a couple of intimate friends whom he nearly ran 
over. 

It was not until he had spent two hours with his patient, and came out to 
look for his horse, that he began to realize that he had walked a mile out of his 
way so that he need not shy at the Seymour stage I — Frederick H. Cogswell, 
in Harper's Magazine. 

Heard in Court. — “Sir,” said a fierce lawyer, “do you, on your oath, 
swear that this is not your handwriting?” 

“ I think not,” was the cool reply. 

“ Does it resemble your writing?” 

“ I can’t say it does.” 

“ Do you swear that it does not resemble your writing?’’ 

“ I do‘.” 

“ Do you take your oath that this writing does not resemble yours ?” 

“ Y-e-s, sir.” 

“Now, how do you know?” 

“’Cause I can’t write .” — The Cottage Hearth. 

Some Eevelations of the Census. — There are now more than half a 
million almond-trees bearing in the United States; there are hundreds of thou- 
sands of bearing cocoanut-trees ; there are more than a quarter of a million 
olive-trees, producing fruit equal to the best Mediterranean varieties. There 
are more than half a million bearing banana-plants, two hundred thousand 
bearing lemon-trees, four million orange-trees, and twenty-one million pine- 
apples. And the value of tropical and semi-tropical fruits grown under the 
American flag is nearly twenty million dollars. 

A Fair Offer. — “Papa,” said Martin, “if you get me a bicycle I won’t 
ever mind going anywhere on an errand.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


135 



THE HOT DAYS 

Of July are not only endurable 
but salubrious, when your blood is kept 
free from irritating humors and malarial poisons. 
This is best effected by the use of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. 
It attacks and breaks up every humor, dispels painful 
eruptions, strengthens every function, and literally drives 
each element of disease out of the body. Ayer’S 
Sarsaparilla prevents sunstroke, malaria, fevers, chills, 
and summer sickness, and is the speediest restorative 
after a wasting illness. Be sure to avoid any prepa- 
ration claiming to be a substitute; for there can be 
none. The superior blood-purifier is 


Ayer’s Sarsaparilla 

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. 

Cures Others, Will Cure You 


T" A ni*nnni*lin richness, color, and beauty of the hair, the greatest 
I 11 I I HaKI Vn necessary, much harm being done by the use of 

lull UUUI I U worthless dressings. To be sure of having a first-class 
article, ask your druggist or perfumer for Ayer’s Hair Vigor. It is absolutely 
superior to any other preparation of the kind. It restores the original color 
and fullness to hair which has become thin, faded, or gray. It keeps the 
scalp cool, moist, and free from dandruff. It heals itching humors, prevents 
bahlness, and imparts to the hair a silken texture and lasting fragrance. No 
toilet can be considered complete without this most popular and elegant of 
all hair-dressings. 

Ayer’s Hair Vigor 

Made by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., LoweU, Mass. 

Sold by Druggists and Perfumers 


136 


CURRENT NOTES. 


An Important Person Handled.— Among the most important persons 
in the world, in his own estimation, is the average porter of a sleeping-car. A 
writer in the St. Louis Qlohe- Democrat describes how one of these autocrats was 
humbled : 

Two ladies boarded a train on the Houston and Texas Central Railroad, 
and by some mistake were ushered into the Pullman car. That they were ladies 
their neat apparel, with their modest refined faces, clearly showed, though their 
old-fashioned dress indicated that they were poor. My lord in the brass 
buttons sallied up to them, and, finding out the mistake, began to show his 
majestic powers of insolence. He did not notice a gentleman who had boarded 
the train at the same station, and who stood quietly observing the scene from 
the door of the car. This gentleman now advanced, saying, “ Be seated, ladies, 
until we reach the next town, when you can easily enter the other car.” Then, 
beckoning to the conductor, he added, “ Stop the train.” 

“ Here, captain?” asked the conductor. 

“ Yes, here.” There was a pull of the bell-rope, the train stopped, and the 
porter was ejected from the car, the gentleman saying to him, “ Now walk the 
fifteen miles to Dallas, and study politeness as you trudge along : you are no 
longer in our employ.” 

There were a shbwer of expostulations, pleas for pardon, and a shake or 
two of the fist at the fast-vanishing train, but it vanished for all that. The 
gentleman who had taught the lesson was a high official of the road. 

Settled. — Le Fianc6. — “If you wear hoop-skirts, Mabel, I won’t w’alk 
on the same side of the street you do.” La Fiancee. — “You won’t be able to, 
dear.” — Truth. 

Tackles the Japanese Language. — One of my earliest purchases was a 
“ Colloquial Grammar” and a double-back-action dictionary, for I hoped by this 
dual aid to learn something of the language. With unwary confidence and 
laudable enthusiasm I began fingering the leaves of the dictionary and reading 
the opening pages of the “ Colloquial.” It was not long before I found myself 
pondering over things as mysterious and fathomless as any the life outside had 
propounded. To inquire in just what the differences consist between the 
Japanese and our language would prove perhaps as useless as it certainly would 
be tiresome. Suffice it to say that every part of it was to me in structure and 
idioms incomprehensibly alien from all that we are accustomed to. 

To whittle one’s way inch by inch through it without the aid of a scroll- 
saw would be an effort to which the trials of Job were a pleasant pastime. 
And albeit “ Japanese — with its exotic grammar, its still uncertain affinities, 
its ancient literature — is a language worthy of more attention than it has yet 
received,” I felt I could not give it any more at the time, short of insanity, and, 
reluctantly availing myself of the courteous permission extended by the author 
of “ leaving his work to the kind indulgence of the student,” thought it best 
not to meddle with Providence in too reckless a fashion, and put the book away 
under lock and key. — Robert Blum, in Scribner's Magazine. 

Musical Item. — She (at piano). — “ Listen I Do you enjoy this refrain ?” 

He. — “Very much. The more you refrain, the better I like it.” — Texas 
Siftings. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


137 


PONDS EXnUCT 


Sunburn, 
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AVOID IMITaWoNS. 


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Boils, 

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Wounds, 

Bruises, 

Catarrh, 

Soreness, 

Lameness. 


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which possessed in the higrheat decree its restor- 
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This invigorating tonic is powerful in its 
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E, FOUGERA & CO., Agents, Ni. 30 North William street, New York. 22 rue Drouot, Paris. 





138 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Proper Disinfectant for Household Use.— It is, at least, always 
wise to be on the safe side, if that side can be gained, and in no instance is this 
of more concern than the health of the family. 

Proper disinfectants, properly used at frequent periods, certainly do tend to 
prevent many diseases, and the expense attending their frequent use is so trivial 
that it would seem as if in every well-managed household their use would be 
second to nothing but soap. 

Chemical science has proven that the best disinfectants and germ-destroyers 
are entirely odorless, and the popular preparation known as Platt’s Chlorides is 
the best exponent of this class. This solution has for many years commanded 
the praise of thousands of physicians and of hundreds of thousands of care- 
ful housekeepers, and its cheapness and freedom from every objectionable 
feature commend its use to every one. 

Marriage System of Tibet. — “Family life presents some curious features 
here,” writes Mrs. Isabella Bishop in the Leisure Hour. “ In the disposal in 
marriage of a girl, her eldest brother has more ‘say’ than the parents. The 
eldest son brings home the bride to his father’s house, but at a given age the 
old people are ‘shelved,’ i.e., they retire to a small house, which may be termed 
a ‘jointure-house,’ and the eldest son assumes the patrimony and the rule of 
affairs. I have not met with a similar custom anywhere in the East. It is 
diflicult to speak of Tibetan life, with all its affection and jollity, as ^family life,' 
for Buddhism, which enjoins monastic life, and usually celibacy along with it, 
on eleven thousand out of a total population of a hundred and twenty thou- 
sand, further restrains the increase of population within the limits of sustenance 
by inculcating and rigidly upholding the system of polyandry, permitting mar- 
riage only to the eldest son, the heir of the land, while the bride accepts all his 
brothers as inferior or subordinate husbands, thus attaching the whole family 
to the soil and family roof-tree, the children being regarded legally as the 
property of the eldest son, who is addressed by them as ‘Big Father,’ his 
brothers receiving the title of ‘ Little Father.’ ” 

Fatal. — Clifford Harrison, the English reader, has his own ideas of the 
“total depravity of inanimate things.” He says it is usually fatal to introduce 
an effective pause into a recitation, for something is sure to mar it. He adds, 
plaintively, — 

“ If I am reciting in a hall where there is a striking clock, or past which a 
train runs, with shriek and roar, I know that striking clock and shrieking train 
will make themselves heard at a moment when it is most important for me to 
have unbroken silence. 

“ I once wrote some verses for recitation, into which I was so injudicious as 
to put a sudden exclamation, — 

“‘Listen? What is that?’ 

“ I might have known what would happen. Clocks chimed, doors slammed, 
special trains screamed, old gentlemen coughed, some one was convulsed with 
an irrepressible sneeze, dogs came from distant parts on purpose to bark, candle- 
shades fell off, a waiter dropped a tray and teacups, a baby cried, and a deaf 
old lady was heard to say to her neighbor, — 

“ ‘ Would half a cucumber be of any use?’ 

“ I learned bitter wisdom, and cut the passage out.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


139 


The Passing of Lard. — The growth and development of cooking schools 
in the past few years has, of course, cost something in time and money. Cook- 
ing lectures and cooking classes have aimed to promote health and happiness 
through the appetite and through digestion. All the cost of this new work — 
which some, with no adequate knowledge of its earnestness and importance, 
thoughtlessly term a “ fad” — has been repaid a hundredfold through the success 
that has been achieved in dignifying and elevating kitchen science. Great re- 
sults have been accomplished through general enlightenment on the subject of 
cooking. But in no way has greater good been wrought than by the greater 
variety of digestible food, by the increase of palatable and appetizing dishes, 
by the extension of wholesomeness in frying and shortening through the 
“ passing” or abolition of lard. 

The first lady authors and teachers upon cookery were seriously embarrassed 
by lard. The necessity for a cooking fat was inexorable. A science of cooking 
without frying and shortening was impossible. Cookery not within reach of 
the masses would be ridiculous. Food prepared in commercial or “store lard” 
could be partaken of only by a fraction of any community, viz., those having 
uncontrollable appetites and cast-iron stomachs. Just then the discovery and 
merits of Cottolene became public, — as if nature stood ready to supply the want 
as soon as that want was fully appreciated. And now lard is rapidly “ passing” 
out of existence. 

Without Cottolene the work of cooking schools must have fallen far short 
of perfection, — and Cottolene in turn owes much to the dissemination of knowl- 
edge through cookery experts. 

The general satisfaction from the almost universal use of Cottolene has 
only one drawback, and even this is additional proof of “the passing of lard.” 
We refer to the introduction of counterfeits and imitations of Cottolene. We 
shall never return to the use in our kitchens of modern hog lard. The packing- 
house grease that has usurped the name, and which for a period claimed the 
place, of good old-fashioned leaf lard, will no longer be used for frying and 
shortening civilized food. But it is natural enough for rivals and competitors 
in trade to counterfeit or to imitate Cottolene. Consumers will do well to guard 
themselves against such fraud and deception in trade. It is easy to procure the 
genuine Cottolene, and of course nothing else can be so good in its place. 
Merely insist upon your grocer’s supplying the genuine article. It is most con- 
venient in three- or five- or ten-pound pails. It is made only by N. K. Fair- 
bank & Co., Chicago, St. Louis, Montreal, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, 
San Francisco. 


140 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Don’t Wake Him.— Potemkin, the confidential adviser of Catherine the 
Great, was an idle and inattentive student when at the University of Moscow. 
He was the son of a poor noble. An unexpected event changed the idle student 
into a man of thought and action. He lost an eye, and after the accident became 
dangerously ill. After this he devoted himself to study and to the affairs of 
the nation. 

He had the virtue of never cherishing revenge. “ Do you remember how 
you expelled me from the university ?” he asked, in the most affectionate manner, 
on meeting a professor who had particularly insisted on his exclusion. 

“ You deserved it at that time, your Excellency,” replied the professor. 

“ So I did, so I did,” agreed Potemkin, heartily, and the professor enjoyed 
the favor and friendship of his former troublesome pupil during his lifetime. 

He had a quick wit and a lively and original turn of mind. During an 
oration by Platon, remarkable for its depth and strength of thought, the 
preacher, to the astonishment of the listeners, descended from the steps lead- 
ing to the altar, and, approaching the tomb of Peter the Great, exclaimed, — 

“ Awake, 0 thou great monarch and father of our country 1 Rise, and 
behold thy beloved people !” 

Potemkin, amidst the tears of the crowd, drew a smile from those about 
him by saying, quietly, “How foolish to wake him! If he should get up, we 
should all be in for it !” — Youth’s Companion. 

Early rising was a frequent subject of contention between Nahum Briggs 
and his wife. One night, when it seemed to Mrs. Briggs as if her tired eyes 
had but just closed, Nahum spoke up briskly: “Come, Lucy, come; time ter 
git up. It’s all habit sleepin’ so much.” His wife rubbed her heavy lids and 
rose reluctantly. The clock had stopped, but Nahum said “ it was nearly six, 
for there was a light in Bunker’s shop,” and he usually opened the store at that 
time. Soon the kettle was steaming cheerily, and while breakfast was being 
prepared, Nahum took his lantern and went out to “ do the chores.” He watered 
and fed his stock, and returned to eat a hearty morning meal. Then they sat 
down to wait the first streak of dawn ; but after an hour it seemed, if anything, 
darker than before. “Ain’t it terrible long cornin’ light, think?” asked Mrs. 
Briggs, as to a carping judge. “Oh, I’m used ter bein’ up to greet the day,” 
sniffed Nahum ; “ I guess the sun will be round on time.” Soon his wife looked 
out again. “ For the love of John Turner!” she exclaimed; “ Bunker has put 
out his light an’ is goin’ home. Do go out an’ hail him, an’ find what time it 
is.” “ It’s day-time, I tell ye,” said Nahum, but he went out and “ hailed” his 
neighbor. “I dunno exactly,” said Mr. Bunker, with some moderation ; “but 
when I shut up shop I think it was ’bout ten o’clock.” Then Nahum came in 
and shut the door. While Mrs. Briggs prepared for a second night’s rest, he 
wound the clock and set it. She noticed that he took a decided comfort in 
winding it more vigorously than seemed quite necessary. — The Argonaut. 

Answered. — He. — “ Well, what have you there?” 

She. — “ Two of your old letters, my dear.” 

He. — “ Umph ! What’s the first one — that forty-pager?” 

She. — “ One you sent me when I had a slight cold before we were married. 
This half-page is the one you wrote last winter when I was nearly dead with 
the grippe. That’s all, dear.” — Truth. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


141 



No Wonder He Dreads It, 

if his house is cleaned in the old-fashioned, 
tearing-up way. Why can’t a man’s wife use 
Pearline for cleaning house, and let him 
keep comfortable ? That’s all she needs — Pearl- 
ine and water — to make it an easy thing (and a 
quick one,) both for herself and for everybody 
around her. 

Everything in the house, from cellar to 
attic, can be cleaned best with Pearline. Besides, 
with your paint and wood-work and such things, you’ll 
save a lot of wear that comes from useless scrubbing. 

Peddlers and some unscrupulous grocers 
will tell you “ this is as good as” or “the 
same as Pearline,” IT’S FALSE 
— Pearline is never peddled, and if 
your grocer sends you something in place of Pearline, 
be honest — senJ it back. 410 JAMES PYLE, N. Y- 



“It’s funny how things go. The Penn Mutual Life is not a corporation 
given to trivialities. Its business is a weighty one, and since 1847 it has been 
transacted deliberately, seriously, successfully, and with becoming dignity. But — 
and right here we imagine a stately smile might play around the strong features 
and glide down the orthodox spine of George Fox himself— the Penn Mutual 
Life has thrown away the Quaker habiliments of William Penn; the broad- 
brimmed hat, the painfully severe coat, have been exchanged for the armor 
which the peaceful William wore, alas, not when paying Indians for their lands, 
but when severely trouncing insurgents in Ireland. The new figure means more 
than a bright device for advertising; it is notice to all competitors that the 
Penn Mutual is a corporation militant, intending to get its full share of business, 
even if it has to fight for it, though at all times preserving that just equity in 
its treatment of policy-holders which has been its distinguishing characteristic 
for forty-six years .” — Insurance Age. 

Even our kindly critics are given to exaggeration. The Penn Mutual Life 
does not mean to serve any notice on competitors. It does not fight for business 
— fighting involves great waste; and it has no wish to be big at the sacrifice of 
security and by imposing unnecessary and, therefore, wrongful charges upon 
its members. It has had and always will have a large membership, because 
there are many insurers capable of exercising a wise discrimination in the choice 
of a Life Company — those who investigate, examine, and use as much prudence 
and caution as they would in any other weighty business project. 

You may know much of the Company, its plans, rates, etc., and obtain a 
concise explanation of the principles of Life Insurance, by addressing 

The Penn Mutual Life, 

921-3-5 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


142 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Quick-Witted Engineer. — “Among Mr. Grundy’s ‘Pictures of the 
Past,’ ” says the Youth's Companion, “is one of a small, irascible captain of the 
royal navy, who for some inexplicable reason had been made the manager of 
the Manchester & Leeds Kailway, then newly opened for a few miles from 
Manchester. 

“ This violent little naval officer issued a pamphlet of instructions to the 
men, a portion of which was devoted to engine-drivers. Thrilling stories of 
the result of want of caution abounded. 

“ In those early days, wherever the character of the country favored it, the 
rails were laid, not upon wooden sleepers, as was soon found more desirable, 
but upou square, bedded blocks of stone. 

“ The captain’s story went that some careless workmen had left one of these 
blocks of stone in dangerous proximity to the line of rails. Now mark the 
advantage of the cautious engineer, 

“ He saw the great block, and knew the danger, so ‘ he put his engine as 
much as possible on the other rail, and just missed the stone, otherwise he 
must have hit it.’ ” 

A Columbia College professor who has often been amused, as all of us 
have been, by the peculiarly American sign in front of certain cheap restaurants 
in the business quarters of the city, “ Quick Lunch,” was infinitely diverted, 
the other day, by an inscription on a sign-board in front of a Third Avenue 
restaurateur's. It read thus, the italics being mine: “Cheapest dinner in New 
York: Six corses for 25 cents.” Here was suggested a new and practical appli- 
cation of the once familiar alternative, “The Quick or the Dead?” Are we 
reverting to cannibalism? 

Over the Zee to the Harbor of Hoorn. — “ Hoorn is rather a tantal- 
izing place to sail to,” says a writer in Outing, “as for miles along the coast it 
is plainly seen, owing to its beautiful water gate or tower at the entrance of the 
harbor. It is an interesting town, both as to the streets and houses. The latter 
bend over to each other across the streets in an extraordinary way, and look as 
if a good puff of wind must send them over. 

“ Besides the water tower on the bank of the Zuyder Zee, there is another 
curious old gate at the other end of the town. These, with the weigh-house, 
the St. Jans Inn, and the town hall, are among the chief objects of interest, 
while old almshouses and quaint buildings meet one at every turn. The harbor 
was quite full of fishing-boats; a man-of-war was anchored just outside the 
harbor; the town was full of soldiers and officers, men firing at targets in a field 
near us all day, while the new railway station seemed to have a fair share of 
business. 

“ Hoorn is pervaded by an overpowering smell of cheese, and no wonder, for 
at every turn there are huge warehouses in which we could see the cheeses, 
brightly colored orange, red, and magenta, in endless rows, while in the open 
market the night before market-day are countless cheeses being unpacked from 
the country carts and laid in rows on the ground ready for next morning.” 

Answering her Question. — “Is this a free translation?” asked the girl 
in the book-store. 

“ No, miss,” replied the clerk, “ it costs fifty cents.” — Puck. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


143 



Send, with your name and address, one wrapper from a bottle of 


riELLIN’S FOOD, 

and we will mail you a copy of this picture, size lox 14, suitable 
for framing, printed in colors on heavy, white paper, with 
wide margin, and with no advertising upon it. 

DOLIBER=QOODALE CO., Boston, Mass., U.S. 


THE AWAKENING, “Le Reveil de I’Amour,” by Perrault, Paris Salon, 1891 

The original painting is shown at the World’s Fair, Chicago, in the MEIylylN’S FOOD Exhibit, 
in the Department of liberal Arts. 


144 


CURRENT NOTES. 


You Need Funds 


At 

the 

World’s 

Fair. 


Carry TRAVELERS CHEQUES of the 

American Express Co. 

NO IX3E:NTZFXCA.TI0N FtFQXTZIlEIZ). 

More ConTeclent thaa Letters of Credit or Circular Notes, Cheques Issued for $1U, $20, $50, $100, and $200 each. 

AvaUabU^\‘‘ov?r“o.OOO Place, in VISITORS TO THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN 

Australia, United States, etc., including Principal Hotels. EXPOSITION will find these Cheques especially oon- 

Exact Amount in Foreign Money printed on Cheque will venient and avoid risk in carrying money. Paying Offices 

be paid. on Fair Grounds and at 200 other places In Chicago. 

Bates and Further Particulars can be obtained from any Agent of the American Express Company, also at the principal 

Offices of the Company, 66 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, and 78 MONROE STREET, CHICAGO. 



Genuine Guyots. — The public never tires of hearing words of praise of 
an article which has by degrees, and by reason of its merits, worked its way 
into general use. The ever-growing demand for a suspender which in itself 
combines perfect comfort with perfect health and durability, and which is sold 
everywhere at a very moderate price, renders it almost impossible to supply the 
orders unless they are given some time in advance. In the French section of the 
Chicago Exposition the Guyot exhibit will attract more than ordinary attention. 
Striking novelty is the “ pidce de resistance” of the case, and every dealer in 
men’s furnishings will be amply rewarded for his visit to the Guyot show-case. 
Charles Guyot made suspenders a profession, was a suspender genius, and the 
hygienic properties of the celebrated genuine Guyots, which are the result of 
unquestioned brains, have been the main cause of the phenomenal success of 
the now famous Guyot suspenders. Over one million pairs were sold in the 
United States last year, and this year the sale will surely be much larger. 

Familiar with his Subject. — It was at a late quarterly meeting of 
Seventh-Day Baptist churches in Wisconsin that two clergymen were to present 
jiapers on the same day, and the question of precedence having risen, Mr. A. 
sprang to his feet and said, “ I think Brother B. ought to have the best place 
on the programme ; he is an older man than I am, and, besides, is full of his 
subject.” When the audience remembered that Brother B.’s subject was “ The 
Devil,” a cheerful smile seemed to beam around the church. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


145 



Dobbins’ Klectric Soap 

Is for sale everywhere, and has been ever since 1867. Acknowledged by 
all to be the best family soap in the world. We ask every woman using 
it to save the Outside Wrappers and send them to us. We will mail her, post- 
paid, the following Beautiful Presents, gratis: For two complete Outside Wrap- 
pers and Ten Cents in money or stamps, any volume of the “ Surprise Series” 
of 25 cent novels, about 200 pages. Catalogue on back of wrappers. For 
twenty complete Outside Wrappers, without any cash accompanying, any 
volume of the “Surprise Series” novels. For twenty-five complete Outside 
Wrappers, any one of the following most beautiful panel pictures ever published, 
all charming studies of little girls, by the most celebrated foreign artists, made 
exclusively for us : “ La Petite,” by Throman ; “ Les Intimes,” by Thompson ; 
“Two Sisters,” by Sagin ; “Little Fisher Maiden,” by G. B. Wilson; “Little 
Charmer,” by Springer; “ May Day,” by Havenith ; “ Heartsease,” by Springer. 
For sixty complete Outside Wrappers, a Worcester’s Pocket Dictionary, 298 
pages. 

The whole wrapper must be sent. We will not send anything for a part of 
a wrapper cut out and mailed us. Of course no wrapper can be used for two 
presents. Twenty wrappers, or over, should be securely done up like news- 
papers, with ends open, and address of sender in upper left-hand corner of 
envelope. Postage on wrappers thus done up is 2 cents for 20 or 25 wrappers, 
and 6 cents for 60 wrappers. Mail at same time postal telling us what present 
you desire. 

Dobbins Soap Manufacturing Co., 

119 South Fourth Sti, Philadelphia. 


VoL. LIL— 10 


146 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Drawing the Line. — The rhyming dictionary seems to have its uses, even 
for those who are not poets. The New York Sun shows how a man’s familiarity 
with it helped him to ask awkward questions. 

“ I suppose, doctor,” said Cumso to Doctor Paresis, “ that a large propor- 
tion of the ills of your patients are imaginary ?” 

“ Yes, sir, quite a large proportion.” 

“And your treatment of such cases, I suppose, is by imaginary pills?” 

“ Well, I suppose you might call it that.” 

“Then, of course, for treating imaginary ills with imaginary pills, you 
send in imaginary bills?” 

“ Oh, my dear sir, nothing of the kind. There’s nothing imaginary about 
the bills. I have to draw the line somewhere.” 

The Author of “Das Kapital” at Home. — It is ten years since the 
death of Karl Marx, and Friedrich Lessner furnishes to Die Neue Zeit some 
interesting reminiscences of the great Socialist’s life : 

“Marx’s house at Haverstock Hill was always open to members of the 
party, and the pleasant hours spent there will never be forgotten. Here shone 
Frau Marx, a tall, handsome woman, and so extraordinarily good-natured, 
amiable, and intelligent, and free from all pride, that every one felt at home 
in her presence. The three daughters, too, took, from their earliest days,. the 
warmest interest in the modern workmen’s movement. Marx abhorred the ex- 
ternal attributes of parental authority, and his daughters always treated him 
more as a brother or a friend. He was both their counsellor and their playmate. 
He had, in fact, an extraordinary love for children, and he often said that what 
he liked most about Christ was His great love of children. Lessner often 
accompanied him on his walks, and they would discuss all sorts of questions 
together. He was an interesting companion, who attracted and charmed every- 
body who came in contact with him. Whenever any member of the party 
gained a victory, no matter in what country, his joy knew no bounds, and 
others could not help rejoicing with him. In 1868, when the first volume of 
‘ Das Kapital’ was translated into Russian, so significant an event as the arrival 
of the first copy of the Russian ‘ Kapital’ was made the occasion of a grand 
festival among his family and friends.” 

Cherished Cockade. — A memorable instance of presence of mind was 
the adventure of a certain Desaugiers at the time of a popular uprising in 
Paris, when the people took possession of the Tuileries. The hero of the 
incident sagely acted upon the theory that a poor excuse is better than none, 
and sometimes better than a better one would be. 

He was an inquisitive person, and, regardless of danger, he hastened to the 
Tuileries at midnight to see what was going on. At the gate he was stopped 
by two revolutionists of ominous appearance. “ Why do you not wear a cockade, 
citizen ? Where is your cockade?” they asked. 

A mob gathered about him and demanded fiercely, “ Citizen, where is your 
cockade ?” 

Desaugiers took off his hat, turned it around and around, looked at it on 
all sides, and then said, in a tone of mild surprise, — 

“ Citizens, it is strange, very strange 1 I must have left it on my night-cap.” 
Youth's Companion. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


147 


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A Sensational Story has attracted attention lately, but as a matter 
of fact the public has also devoted time to things substantial, judging by the 
unprecedented sales of the Gail Borden .Eagle Brand Condensed Milk. Un- 
equalled as a food for infants. Sold by grocers and druggists. 


148 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Brook of Millions. — A serious obstacle to the development of great 
industries in Switzerland is the scarcity of coal in that country ; but the smaller 
industries, profiting by the streams and natural w'ater-falls that abound, are the 
most numerous and active perhaps in the world. One little stream, the Aa, — a 
brook, indeed, about three yards wide, — supplies the motor force for thirty con- 
siderable manufactories within a limit of about four and a half miles, its entire 
length. It rises in the Pfafiiger-See, east of Zurich, and flows into the Greiffen- 
See, and the difference between the level of the two lakes is only about three 
hundred feet. From the amount of wealth it has created, it is called Le Buis- 
seau des Millions. — Handy Book of Literary Curiosities, J. B. Lippincott Co. 

An Indiscreet Hunter, — Patrick and Michael Avent out hunting one 
rainy day, — it was the only day that they could get off. All went wdl with 
them until, when they were several miles from home, they discovered that 
neither one had brought a cartridge, and that not a shot could be fired. 

“ Begorra,” said Pat, cheerfully, “what’s that to do wid the huntin’? Is 
the want of a carthridge anny rayson to prevint a man from huntin’?” 

“ None at all,” said Michael. 

So they continued to hunt. By and by a rabbit started up close to Pat and 
then came to a stop, curiously watching the hunters. Pat instantly brought 
his gun to his shoulder. • 

“ The gossoon that ye air !” exclaimed Mike. “ Wud ye shoot him wudout 
a carthridge?” 

The rabbit hopped away. 

“ Whisht !” said Pat, angrily, “ there ye go, spilin’ the sport w’id yer 
blatherin’ tongue !” 

“ Patrick I An yer gun was not loaded !” 

“Sure, ye spalpeen, but the rabbit w'ould niver ’a’ knowed it if ye’d hild 
yer blather!” — Youth’s Companion. 

A Quirk of the Law. — A gentleman, dying, left all his estate to a mon- 
astery, on condition that on the return of his only son, wdio was then abroad, 
the worthy fathers should give him “ whatever they should choose.” 

When the son came home he went to the monastery, and received but a 
small share, the monks choosing to keep the greater part for themselves. A 
barrister to whom he applied, on hearing the case, advised him to sue the mon- 
astery, and promised to gain his case for him. 

In arguing before the court the ingenious lawyer said, “The testator has 
left his son that share of the estate wdiich the monks should choose; these are 
the express words of his will. Now, it is plain what part they have chosen by 
what they keep for themselves. My client, then, stands upon the words of the 
will. ‘ Let me have,’ says he, ‘ that part they have chosen, and I am satisfied.’ ” 

This plea gained the suit. — The Cottage Hearth. 

Too Bad. — A good many older persons who have been in difficult positions, 
and have felt that the world was really very hard, can sympathize with little 
Flo Sanborn, of whom an exchange writes, — 

She had been censured by her mother for some small mischief which she 
had been engaged in. She sat thinking it over for some time, and finally said, 
in an utterly discouraged tone, — 

“ Everything I do is laid to me.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


149 








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childhood to motherhood, there is nothing so healthful, 
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Worn by over a million Mothers, Misses and Children. Buttons 
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Bird-Manna! — The great secret of the canary-breeders 
of the Hartz Mountains, Germany. Bird-Manna will restore 
the song of cage-birds, will prevent their ailments, and restore 
them to good condition. If given during the season of shedding 
feathers it will, in most cases, carry the little musician through 
this critical period without loss of song. Sent by mail on re- 
ceipt of 15 cents in stamps. Sold by Druggists. Directions free. 
Bird Food Company, 400 North Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



Imperial Granum is really a capital food, one that can be commended as 
furnishing the best principles for infant food. — Pharmaceutical Record, New York. 

From a constant use of Imperial Granum in our family extending over 
several years, we are enabled to certify to its excellence. — New York Christian 
Weekly. 


150 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The New England Conservatory, of Boston, Massachusetts, stands 
deservedly at the head of American schools of musical training. During the 
lifetime of its founder. Dr. Tourjee, it had already won the confidence and sup- 
port of the American people, and since his death the acceptance of the director- 
ship by the scholarly musician Mr. Carl Faelten has given the institution an 
impetus and standing second to none in this country. 

A careful investigation will quickly convince any one that nothing is left 
undone for the highest intellectual improvement of its pupils ; that the moral in- 
fluences thrown around them are far-reaching and in every way beneficial, and 
that the Conservatory is evidently no place for the lazy or frivolous. But to those 
wlio desire the highest attainment and are willing to devote the necessary amount 
of study and investigation, aided by minds of exceptional ability, this Conserva- 
tory offers inducements and privileges heretofore unattainable in America. 

In its well-appointed home reside nearly four hundred lady students. The 
advantage of living and taking all studies (no matter whether music, elocution, 
art, or languages) under one roof is of immense importance to the student. 

This advantage is accentuated by the fact that the home-life in this institu- 
tion is replete with comforts and safeguards. The management is of the best, 
and has gained the repeated endorsement of such people as Mrs. Mary A. Liver- 
more, Mrs. Joseph Cook, Mrs. Kate Gannett Wells, Dr. Philip S. Moxom, Dr. 
Edward Everett Hale, Dr. A. J. Gordon, and hosts of others of national reputa- 
tion. 

For calendar, giving full information, address Frank W. Hale, General 
Manager, Franklin Square, Boston, Massachusetts. 

A Definition of Humanity. — The story is told of Robespierre that, at 
one time, when at the height of his power, a lady called upon him, beseeching 
him to spare her husband’s life. He scornfully refused. As she turned away, 
she happened to tread upon the paw of his pet dog. He turned upon her, 
exclaiming, “Madame, have you no humanity?” 

The Birthplace of Columbus.— Genoa, the harbor, and the sea, a trio 
which forms a panorama that defies the painter’s brush. 

In the bright sunlight the city rises amphitheatre-like from the edge of 
the blue sea, which foams and scintillates in the distance like a sheet of silver. 
Tall mountain-ridges encircle the city like a rampart, with fortresses here and 
there looking down from these fastnesses like watch-dogs guarding the place. 

When we speak of streets in Genoa, we may be considered extremely liberal 
and fulsome of flattery ; alleys would be far more appropriate for the crooked, 
narrow, zigzag thoroughfares of which the city is made up. All the palazzi — 
for there is scarcely a house that calls itself by a more modest name, — the 
smallest rattle-trap shanty is at least a palazzino — seem to crowd toward the 
water’s edge. 

Lines are stretched from house to house in these dirty little streets, on 
which the family washing is hung out to dry, and the pedestrians wander under 
one continuous line of all sorts of mentionable — and unmentionable — personal 
wardrobe articles, as under a sea of banners and head-quarter flags. But those 
who take this public exposure of household linen as an indication that the 
people of Genoa are noted for their cleanliness are vastly mistaken, for the 
aggregation of filth and dirt in the Genoese streets would be hard to duplicate 
anywhere . — The Chaperone. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


151 





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A quarter-pound can will be mailed free on receipt of 15 cents in stamps. Cleveland 
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152 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A WELL-KNOWN Loudon bookseller said recently to an interviewer, “ I 
take it as generally accepted that the average American woman of education is 
more bookish — cares more for books as books — than the average educated Eng- 
lishwoman, although she does not, it may be, read more.” 

The Wrong Turn. — Among the many stories told of absent-minded 
people there is one about the dreamy mother of a young American author, 
which is well authenticated but seems almost incredible. 

One evening when her son stopped at the door of her room on the way to 
his own, to deliver a message which had been sent her, he discovered the old 
lady in the pitchy darkness, holding a match under the cold-water faucet. 

When she “ came to herself,” in response to her son’s hearty laugh, she 
admitted that she had lighted five other matches and treated them in the 
same way. 

“ I was thinking about something else,” she said, naively, “ and all I knew 
was that I had to turn something on before I could light the gas.” 

And then she added, “ I don’t think it was such a queer mistake, after all I’i 

Fiction for a Purpose. — Mr. Hamlin Garland in the Arena gives it as 
his opinion that each section of our country, in fact, each city, will have its own 
literature. This will be written by people who have grown up in the particular 
locality, never by persons who have entered it and from mere curiosity have 
sought to set forth its peculiarities. The writer carries out this idea to its logical 
completion. He who would write of the slums must grow up in the slums, and 
the best negro stories will be written by negroes. The general characteristic 
of all this literature will be its deep moral tone. It will be the literature of 
democracy. Shakespeare would have been greater if he had not been so anxious 
to please aristocratic patrons. The writers of the future will not be guilty of 
Shakespeare’s mistake, will not be so untrue to life. 

Those who are familiar with Mr. Garland’s views will not be surprised to 
learn that he thinks the coming novelist will be a woman. " 

Two Smart Women.— Mother (anxiously). — “I am told that your hus- 
band plays poker every night at the club, — plays for money, too.” 

Married Daughter. — “ That’s all right. He gives me all his winnings.” 

“What? Do you ” 

“And he always plays with Mr. Nexdoor.” 

“ What difference can that make?” 

“ Mrs. Nexdoor makes her husband give her his winnings, too, and then 
she gives the money to me, and I hand her what my husband won from hers, 
and so we both have about twice as much money as we could get out of them 
otherwise.” — The General Manager. 

His Explanation. — A professor, who used to teach the grandfathers of 
the present generation of students, objected to the pronunciation of “ wound” 
as if it were spelled “ woond,” and his students used to hunt for chances to 
make him explain his objections. One day he stopped a student who was 
reading to the class, and said, “ How do you pronounce that word?” “ Woond, 
sir.” The professor looked ugly, and replied, “ I have never foond any groond 
for giving it that soond. Go on.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


153 


8^ $25 
12ft. $50 

16ft $100 

AERMOTORS 

ALL STEEL 

GALVANIZEO 

PUMPING OR GEARED SAME PRICE. 

For the benefit of the public, the Aermotor 
Company declares a dividend and makes the 


above prices as 
tributlng it. 
will be con- 
until Its 
earnings 
flciently 
off. Merit 
prospered, 
very small 
great number 
given the Aer- 
4 acres of land in 
taring center of 
very many, acres 
the best equip* 
for the purpose, 
Aermotor Co. 



a means of dls- 
These prices 
tinned only 
surplus 
are suf- 
worked 
has 
and a 

? roflt on a very 
outfits has 
motor Company 
the best mauufac- 
Chicago.wlth many, 
of floor space and 
ment of machinery, 
In existence. The 
feels, in this crown- 


ing Columbian year, that it can afford to be 
generous. We will ship from Chicago to any 
one anywhere at the above prices. 

THE AERMOTOR COMPANY, 
12th and Rockwell Sts., CHICAGO- 


154 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Pug-Dog. — How few who now pet and fondle the pug-dog know that 
at one time popular prejudice threatened his extinction! A century ago the 
English pug was popular as he is to-day, — fondled, petted, and cared for ten- 
derly as a child. Then he became unfashionable and retreated from public 
notice, finally disappeared completely, but in 1863 was again brought forward, 
sold for fabulous prices, and now is one of the most popular pets. The pug 
has no particular characteristic and is not specially bright, though he can be 
taught to perform many entertaining tricks, which perhaps accounts for his 
popularity with the fair sex. — Home and Country Magazine. 

“ The most remarkable experience which I had abroad,” said a woman to 
a New York Times writer, “happened before I touched a foreign shore. At 
Bremen, where we landed, we were taken off in a tug; as we were steaming to 
the wharf we approached very close to a vessel crossing our path, and for a 
few seconds a collision seemed imminent. A man whom I had noticed on the 
passage over, but did not know at all, completely lost his head at this crisis. 
He was sitting near me; but he suddenly rose, took off his high hat, put it in 
my lap, and, with the hasty exclamation, ‘ Please keep this,’ leaped overboard. 
Though every attempt was made to rescue him, he was drowned there before 
our eyes, and I landed, a short time later, carefully holding his silk hat, which, 
by his last will and testament, was certainly mine.” 

Memories. — Among the numberless stories told of General Butler since 
his death is this, extracted from the Boston Globe. The narrator had an im- 
portant law case on, and believed that “ Ben Butler” was the man to win it. 
Butler was in Washington, so he went to the capital, and after two days suc- 
ceeded in obtaining an interview with the general, who declared that he was 
overwhelmed with work. He would not take the case for a thousand dollars 
a day. 

“General,” I said, as he turned abruptly to his work, “I was born in the 
same town with you.” 

He grunted, but wasn’t otherwise affected, so far as I could see. 

“ Do you remember little Miss ? And the boy who used to send notes 

to her, and the boy who used to take them? I am the boy who took the notes.” 

“ And I am the boy that sent them,” said the general. 

He held out his hand. 

“ I guess I’ll take your case, after all,” he said ; and he did, and won it. 

“Tell that to the Marines.” — The marines are among the “jolly” 
jack-tars a proverbially gullible lot, capable of swallowing any yarn, in size 
varying from a yawl-boat to a full-rigged frigate. Hence the phrase, uttered 
with a sceptical inflection, on any particularly incredible whopper being told, 
“Tell that to the marines: the blue-jackets won’t believe it.” 

But, whatsoe’er betide, ah, Neuha ! now 

Unraan me not; the hour will not allow 

A tear: “I’m thine, whatever intervenes!” 

“ Right,” quoth Ben : “ that will do for the marines.” 

Byron : The Island. 

Handy Book of Literary Curiosities, J. B. Lippincott Company. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


155 


-M-f4 4 H M H M > M f H-H-f f-t 

Now and Then. ;; 

Now and then I fall to dreaming ; ; 

Of the good old days again ; . - - 
But the times somehow are seem- 1 1 

ing :: 

Better than they were -- 

Daughter tells me, Gold Dust 
Powder 

Cleans and washes with such ease , - ’ 
That it lightens household labor, making restful times like : ; 
these. ; ; 

Every day her praise grows louder ; Even I admit at last, 1 1 

That the ; ; 

Gold Oust Washing Powder 

Has improved upon the past. 1 1 

What the steam car is to the traveler, and the mowing machine is I - 
to the farmer, Gold Dust is to the housekeeper — a modem means of ; ; 
saving time, strength and money. Sold everywhere. 

Made only by N. K. FAIRBANK & CO., Chicag^o, II 

St. Louis, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Montreal. 

n H M H H i ♦ H 4-4- Hf H - f H t M i H 4 t U m i it 



PROVIDENT LIFE AND TRUST CO. 
of Philadelphia. 

Safe Investments. Low Rate of Mortality. Low Expense Rate. 
Unsurpassed in everything which makes Life Insurance reliable and 
moderate in cost. 

Has never in its entire history contested a death loss. 


Companions in Distress.— When a man eloped with Bigg’s wife he ex- 
claimed, “ Well, I can’t blame him, poor fellow I I was awfully infatuated 
with her myself once .” — Boston Transcript. 


156 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Not a Good Name. — Snooper. — “I object to the term ‘crank’ for a man 
whose mind always runs in the same groove, and who is forever impressing his 
opinions on you.” 

Sumway. — “ What’s your objection?” 

Snooper. — “ Well, a mechanical crank can be turned, but the animate 
crank can’t.” — The Wasp. 

The Expense of Cleanliness. — “If I were rich,” remarked a woman, 
“ I would be clean, beautiful, and happy. As a matter of fact, it costs a great 
deal of money to be clean. Personal cleanliness means clean clothes and plenty 
of them, hot water, a private bath, individual toilet-articles, and an occasional 
purchase of druggists’ supplies. A good flesh-brush alone costs two dollars, and 
linen towels, velvet sponges, and pure soaps are not to be had for the asking. 
If I had money, I would take twelve vapor-baths a year. I would have a 
shower, a foot-bath, scales, and a health-lift in my bath-room. I would have 
one milk-bath a month, as a skin-tonic, and three hot tubs a week for beauty 
sleep. I would use seventy-five-cent camel-hair tooth-brushes, twelve-dollar-a- 
dozen web towels, palm-oil soap, two-dollar-a-pint violet water, and alcohol by 
the gallon for morning sponge-baths. Every day ‘ Boots’ should come to polish 
my shoes and brush my wraps and dress, and every other day I would receive a 
coiffeur to brush, not my hair, but my head. I would have white lambs’-wool 
body-garments for winter and white woven silk for warm weather. So much 
for the toilet. If I could afibrd two dollars’ worth of cab-service for a weekly 
airing, a two weeks’ sea-voyage, one month of travel, two complete outfits a 
year made by a French modiste of my own selection, twenty-five dollars a week 
for the table-supplies I know to be health-producing, hence beautifying, and 
had access to the professional advice and professional service of a medical sur- 
geon and a surgeon-dentist, I would be a very good-looking woman.” — The 
Argonaut. 

Not the Same. — “ What is Rhymester’s business?” 

“ He’s a poet.” 

“ Is he? What does he do for a living?” — Kale Field's Washington. 

He Could not be Outdone. — A Newfoundland belonging to a gentle- 
man in Halifax, Nova Scotia, was in the habit of going every morning with 
a penny to a certain butcher’s shop and purchasing his own breakfast. On 
one occasion, finding this market closed, he walked into another, where he 
deposited his penny upon the block and licked his chops, the dog’s usual 
manner of asking for breakfast. The butcher, however, instead of serving his 
would-be customer, took the coin and drove the poor fellow from his shop. 
The next morning, on receiving his usual allowance, the dog went directly to 
the shop from which he had been driven the previous day, laid his penny upon 
the block, and with a growl, as if to say, “ Don’t you dare play any more tricks 
on me !” placed his paw upon it. The butcher, not caring to risk, under such 
circumstances, the perpetration of another fraud, gave him a piece of meat, 
which the dog quickly bolted, and, seizing the coin, started for the shop of the 
more honest tradesman with whom he usually dealt. Here he purchased a 
second breakfast, and thus made up for his loss of the previous day.— ATo/ne and 
Country Magazine. 


ATTRACTIONS AT ST. LOUIS. 


157 



NEW UNION Di;p6T AT ST. LOUIS. 


ATTRACTIONS AT ST. LOUIS. 

The year 1893 will long be remembered in the West and Southwest on ac- 
count of the magnificence of the fall Carnival at St. Louis. It is not too early 
to make arrangements for visiting the city during the festival period, and resi- 
dents in the East in planning their World’s Fair trip can scarcely afford to omit 
from their arrangements a stay for a few days, either going or coming, at what 
is admitted to be the metropolis of the most productive and growing section of 
the United States. 

The railroad companies, recognizing St. Louis as the great centre of the best 
purchasing region of America, have long since made it the best railroad centre 
on the continent, and there are few parts of the United States from which visitors 
to the World’s Fair cannot conveniently arrange their trip in the manner men- 
tioned. Eates to St. Louis from all parts have been reduced, and the oppor- 
tunity to see a city remarkable at once for its manufacturing and commercial 
eminence, and also for its hospitality, is too valuable for any one to afford to miss. 

St. Louis is enjoying a period of the most remarkable prosperity. Its finan- 
cial institutions are in the soundest possible condition, and the ease with which 
these recently spared two million dollars in gold from their vaults and handed 
the money over to the government is but one instance of the way in which this 
remarkable city ignores financial stringency elsewhere. 

Another instance of St. Louis prosperity and generosity is to be found in 
its Autumnal Festivities Association and its world-renowned million-dollar 
fund. This Association was formed just two years ago for the purpose of pro- 
viding the finest kind of entertainment during the three years then next en- 
suing. Among the achievements of the Association may be mentioned the 
two-million-dollar hotel now being erected by capitalists with the support 
of the Association. The same organization last year provided the grandest 
electrical street illuminations and panorama ever witnessed. St. Louis is the 
pioneer city in the matter of street illuminations, and for years it has had 
nothing but its own records to beat. Up to the year 1891 the bulk of its 


158 


ATTRACTIONS AT ST. LOUIS. 


triumphs have been by aid of gas, but last year electricity was freely used, 
and some of the most extraordinary results were obtained. 

The illuminations this year will be even grander than those which brought 
to the city hundreds of thousands of visitors last fall. Work is now in active 
progress and the details are nearly all complete. A blaze of light with rainbow 
and scintillating effects will be the result, and St. Louis will once more break a 
record of its own making in the matter of street illuminations and panorama. 
Many who travelled over a thousand miles to see the illuminations last year ex- 
pressed themselves as more than gratified at the result, and agreed that the 
sight was worth taking a much longer journey to behold. 

The tenth Annual Exposition will open early in September and continue 
for forty days. This, the only successful Annual Exposition in the world, keeps 
up its success by the continual change in its arrangements, and by insisting on 
novelties in every department. This year the mechanical and artistic exhibits 
will be in many respects a great improvement on those of any past year, and in 
the art galleries there will be an array of talent by the best known artists of the 
Old and New Worlds. Sousa’s band, which has earned for itself such a high 
reputation in the East, and which has been greatly strengthened this year, will 
give four concerts daily during the entire period of the Exposition. Admission 
to these concerts will not involve any extra payment on the part of the visitor. 
From the first the single-admission idea has prevailed in St. Louis, and the pay- 
ment of twenty-five cents at the doors gives free admission to every feature of 
the great show. 

The St. Louis Mechanical and Agricultural Fair, by far the largest Fair of 
its kind in the West, will be held during the first week in October. This Fair 
is really a magnificent open-air exposition of mechanical and agricultural ap- 
pliances, as well as of live stock of every description. The attendance is ex- 
traordinary, frequently exceeding one hundred thousand in one day. One cable- 
road and six electric roads provide rapid-transit connections between the Fair 
grounds and the business and residence sections of the city, and this excellent 
service prevents much of the overcrowding which would appear to be insep- 
arable from the moving of such enormous collections of people. 

The great day of days of the Carnival of 1893 will be October 3, when the 
Veiled Prophet will pay his annual visit to St. Louis, head a magnificent street 
parade, and then hold his annual ball in the Chamber of Commerce. No one 
who has not been present in St. Louis on Veiled Prophet’s Day can form any 
adequate conception of what the event means. The parade itself consists of a 
series of magnificent cars richly decorated and illustrative of some historical or 
mythological story. It is something of an entirely different character from 
anything seen elsewhere, and, added to the street illumination, makes the 
event grand in the extreme. 

Between now and the actual inauguration of the fall festivities, a few weeks 
hence, entertainments of various characters will be provided, and the great 
manufacturing city offers in its commercial attainments, its enormous office and 
other buildings, and in its general growth and prosperity ample inducement to 
the visitor and tourist, who should insist on obtaining transportation which will 
take him through St. Louis. 



Give her a watch ; 

a good watch, a handsome one, — 
but don’t “go broke” over it. 

Fourteen-karat gold, filled, or 
coin-silver, elegantly engraved ; 
enamel dial in modern Arabic nu- 
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and stem-winding. A gem to look 
at and a perfect time-keeper. It 
looks like a hundred-dollar watch ; 
any one can take a genuine pride in 
its looks and its behavior. The 
new, perfected, quick-winding 
“ Waterbury” ($4 to $15). 

No cheap Swiss watch can com- 
pare with it. Your jeweller 
sells it, in many different 
styles. 

If any jeweller does not keep the 
Waterbury watches, write us. 

WATERBURY WATCH CO., 

48 Waterbury, Conn. 


CHOCOLATMENIER 



at the 

World’s 

Fa ir. 

Everyone senUn^e 

and address and mention 
this publication will receive 
a pass, which will, when 
presented at the JIENIEll 
Building at any time during 
the World's Fair, entitle ttv: 
bearer to all the privlleRca 
of this beautiful pavilion, 
and also to a very liberal 
sample of the Oiiocolat* 
meiiier, FREE. 


Of course, in the French Section, Menier’S 
home; M. Gaston Menier also having the 
honor of appointment as one of the French 


Commissioners. 


Chocolat-Menier is the only chocolate 
dispensed at all the restaurants of the Vienna 

Bakery. 

Cbocolat-rienier also served at French 

Bakery. 

The rienier Building, erected by the 
same contractors that built the Administra- 
tion Building, is one of the prominent fea- 
tures of the White City. No greater recog- 
nition of the superiority of Chocolat- 
Menier as distinct from the ordinary man- 
ufactured goods can be given than this loca- 
tion awarded to Menier. Their building is 
tlie only one in the area bounded by the 
Terminal R. R. station, the Administration 
Building, Machinery and Mines. 

Menier, 86 West Broadway, N. Y. City. 


THE DUBOIS 

Pen Rack and Pen Cleaner. 



A NEW AND USEFUL ARTICLE FOR 


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^ PRICE. 75 CENTS. ^ 


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postpaid, on receipt of price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers and Stationers, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Pbiladelplila. 

21 




F^INT^NOIML 



American Fire Insurance Company. 


Office : 

Company’s Building, 



CASH CAPITAL 

Reserve for Reinsurance and all other claims 
Surplus over all Liabilities 


308-310 Walnut Street, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


$ 500 , 000.00 
2 , 541 , 873.6 1 
. . 141 , 428.86 


TOTAL ASSETS, JANUARY 1,1893, $3,183,302.47. 


THOS. H. MONTGOMERY, President. RICHARD MARIS, Secretary and Treasurer. 

CHAS. P. PEROT, Vice-President. M'’M. F. WILLIAMS, Assistant Secretary. 

WM. J. DAWSON. Secretary Agency Dept. 



=D= 


“ LISTEN TO THE” tale of 

pi /S D I Q A Profit amllosa. Advan- 
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our monthly “Florida Homeseeker,” tell- 
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Cheap homes sold on 81.00 (and up) per month 
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Oranges, Lemons, and Pineapples our 
Staples. Summer is here delightful. No 
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O. M. CROSBY, Editor, Avon Park, Fla. 


sQb 


TRUST AN D SAFE DEPOSIT COMPANY 

THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOE INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
OB ANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 517 CHESTNUT STREET, 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10, 1812. 
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Chartered to act as EXECUTOR, ADMINISTRA- 
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and Surplus are liable. 

ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT 
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INCOME COLLECTED AND REMITTED. 


INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 


SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR-PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 


The protection of Its Vaults for the preservation 
of WILLS offered gratuitously. 

Gold and Silver-Plate, Deeds, Mortgages, etc., re- 
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HENRY N. PAUL, PRESIDENT. 
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L. C. CLEEMANN, ASS'T TRUST OFFICER. 

WM. P. HENRY, Secy and Treas. 

JOHN J. R. CRAVEN, AsST SECY. 

WM. L. BROWN, Asst Treas. 


Lindley Smyth, 

Henry N. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. Antelo, 
Charles W. Wharton, 
Edward H. Coates, 

Beauveau 


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George W. Childs, 
Edward 8. Buckley 
Boris. 


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„JOHN E. McManus, Everett, Snohomish Co, 
Washington. 



THE AUGUST NUMBER 


OF 



WILL CONTAIN A 


Liippineott’s 

CDagazine 

COMPLETE NOVEL ENTITLED 


If! THE flQlDST 

Op AliAt^mS. 

By ROBERT BARR (“Luke Sharp*';, 

Author of “ In a Steamer Chair,” “ From Whose Bourn,” etc. 


KLSO. THE SIXTH OE 

“IiippiDGott’s llotaWe Stories,” 

A Series to be published Monthly on an original 
competitive plan, explained in each number. 


Aucl tlie Usual Variety of Hssays^ Poems, etc. 


THIS NUMBER WILL BE ILLUSTRATED. 


FOR LIST OF COMPLETE NOVELS CONTAINED IN FORMER NUMBERS, 

SEE NEXT PAGE. 
a 


The COMPLETE NOVELS which have already appeared in 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE, 

and which are always obtainable, are: 

No. 307. “THK TROVItLESOME LADY" By Patience Stapleton. 

No. 300. ‘‘THE TRANSLATION OE A SAVAGE^' • By Gilbert Parker. 

No. 305. “ MRS. ROMNEY" By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

No. 304. “COLUMBUS IN LOVE" By George Alfred Townsend. 

No. 303. “ WARING'S PERIL * By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 302. “THE FIRST FLIGHT" By Julien Gordon. 

No. 301. “A PACIFIC ENCOUNTER" By Mary E. Stickney. 

No. 300. “PEARCE AMERSON'S WILL" By Richard Malcolm Johnston. 

No. 299. “MORE THAN KIN" By Marion Harland. 

No. 298. “ THE KISS OF GOLD' By Kate Jordan. 

No. 297. “ THE DOOMSWOMAN" By Gertrude Atherton. 

No. 296. “THE MARTLET SEAL" By Jeannette H. Walworth. 

No. 295. “ WHITE HERON" By M. G. McClelland. 

No. 294 “JOHN GRAY" (A Kentnvhy Tale of the Olden Time). . By James Lane Allen. 

No. 293. “THE GOLDEN FLEECE" •. By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 292. “ BUT MEN MUST WORK" By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

No. 291. “A SOLDIER'S SECRET" By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 290. “ROY THE ROYALIST" By William Westall. 

No. 289. “ THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE" By Young E. Allison. 

No. 288. “A FAIR BLOCKADE-BREAKER" By T. C. He Leon. 

No. 287. “THE DUKE AND THE COMMONER" By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

No. 286. “ LADY PATTY" By the Duchess. 

No. 285. “CARLOTTA'S INTENDED" By Ruth McEnery Stuart. 

No. 284. “A DAUGHTER'S HEART" By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 

No. 283. “A ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES" By Amelia E. Barr. 

No. 282. “ GOLD OF PLEASURE ' . ■ By George Parsons Lnthrop. 

No. 281. “ VAMPIRES" By Julien Gordon. 

No. 280. “ MAIDEN'S CHOOSING" By Mrs. Ellen Olney Kirk. 

No. 279. “THE SOUND OF A VOICE" By Frederick S. Cozzens. 

No. 278. “ A WA VE OF LIFE" By Clyde Fitch. 

No. 277. « THE LIGHT THAT FAILED" By Rudyard Kipling. 

No. 276. “AN ARMY PORTIA" By Captain Charles King. 

No. 275. “A LAGGARD IN LOVE" By Jeanie Gwvnne Bettany. 

No. 274. “A MARRIAGE AT SEA" By W. Clark Russell. 

No. 273. “THE MARK OF THE BEAST" By Katharine Pearson Woods. 

No. 272. “WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY" . . By Mrs. Alexander. 

No. 271. THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY" By Oscar Wilde. 

No. 270. “ CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE" By Mary E. Stickney. 

No. 269. “A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS" By Bret Harte. 

No. 268. “ A CAST FOR FORTUNE" By Christian Reid. 

No. 267. “TWO SOLDIERS" By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 266. “THE SIGN OF THE FOUR" By A. Conan Dovle. 

No. 265. “MILLICENT AND ROSALIND" By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 264. “ALL HE KNEW" By John Habberton. 

No. 263. “A BELATED REVENGE" By Dr. Robert Montgomery Bird. 

No. 262. “CREOLE AND PURITAN" By T. C. De Leon. 

No. 261. “SOLARION" Bv Edgar Fawcett 

No. 260. “AN INVENTION OF THE ENEMY" By W'. H. Babcock 

No. 259. “TEN MINUTES TO TWELVE" By M. G. McClelland 

No. 258. “A DREAM OF CONQUEST" By General Llovd Brice. 

No. 257. “A CHAIN OF ERRORS" By Mrs. E. W. Latimer. 

No. 256. the witness OF THE SUN" By Am61ie Rives. 

No. 255. “ BELLA-DEMONIA'' By Selina Dolaro 

No. 254. “A TRANSAI:TI0N IN HEARTS" By Edgar Saltus 

No. 253. “ HALE-WESTON" By M. Elliot Seawell. 

No. 252. “ DUNRAVEN RANCH" By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 251. “ EA RTHLINGS ' By Grace King. 

No. 250. “QUEEN OF SPADES," ami Autohiof/rayhy By E. P Roe 

No. 249. “HEROD AND MARIAMNE." A Tragedy By Amalie Rives 

No. 248. “MAMMON" By Maude Howe.’ 

No. 247. “THE YELLOW SNAKE" Bv W'ni. Henry Bishop 

No. 246. “ BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE" By Mi-s. Poultnev Bigelow 

No. 245. “THE OLD ADAM" By H. H. Boyesen. 

No. 244. “THE QUICK OR THE DEAD?" By Amddie Rives 

No. 243. “HONORED IN THE BREACH" By Julia Magruder. 

No. 242. “THE SPELL OF HOME." After the German of E. Werner . . . . By Mrs. A. L Wister 

No. 241. CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK" By Brander Matthews and Geo. H. Jcssop 

No. 240. “ FROM THE RANKS" By Captain Charles King U S A 

No. 239. “THE TERRA-COTTA BUST" Bv Virginia W. Johnson. 

No. 238. “APPLE SEED AND BRTER THORN" By Loui.se Stockton. 

No. 237. “THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES" By Lew Vanderpoole. 

No. 236. “A LAND OF LOVE" By Sidney Imska. 

No. 2:15. “AT ANi'HOR" Bv Julia Magruder. 

No. 2:i4. “ THE WHISTLING BUOY" By Chas. Barnard. 

No. 233. “THE DESERTER'- By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 232. “ DOUGLAS DUANE" By Edgar Fawcett. 

No. 231. “KENYON'S WIFE" By Lucy C. Lillie. 

No. 2;l0. “A SELF-MADE MAN" By M, G. McClelland. 

No. 229. “SINFIRE" By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 228. “MISS DEFARGE" By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

No. 227. “BRUETON'S BAYOU" By John Habberton. 


Single Numbers, 


Cents. 

b 


S3.00 ]:>er Yeai*. 


BIO Y CUES 


Columbia 

Bicycles 


It may be maintained that there 
would be 

Five=5ixths 
Less Illness 

in the community if Bicycles were 
more generally used. 

Keep Out 

in the open air, but do not over- 
exert yourself in exercising. 

Use a Bicycle because 

Mechanicians 

estimate that it requires 


Five= 

Sixths 


less force for a person to 
propel himself 
on a Bicycle one mile 
than would be needed 
to walk the same distance. 

Many persons prefer to ride 

Ten Miles 

on a Columbia Bicycle 

than to walk one mile. 


Columbia catalogue 
free at our ofiSces 
and at our agencies ; 
by mail 

for two two-cent stamps. 


The best Bicycles 
are the Columbias 

Because 

they are the most 
scientifically de- 
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made of the best 
materials by skilled 
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imperfection causes 
rejection; the parts 
of these machines 
are made on the in- 
terchangeable sys- 
tem and purchasers 
are protected by 
the guarantee of the 
Company. 

More than five- 
sixths of the riders 
in some localities 
use Columbias. 

Oldest 

Largest 

Best 

makers of Bicycles 
in the United 
States. 



1 




New York, Cornwall. 

New York Military Academy. 

Col. C. J. Wright, A.M., President. 

Maryland, Reisterstown. 

The Hannah More Academy for Girls. 

Founded in 1832. English, Business, and Classical 
Courses. Rev. Arthur J. Rich, A.M., M.D. 

Missouri, St. Louis, 1607-17 S. Compton Ave. 

Bishop Robertson Hall, 

Formerly The School of the Good Shepherd. 
A Boarding and Day School for Girls, in charge 
of a Sisterhood of the Episcopal Church. 

Address Superior. 

Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 4313 Walnut St. 

A Thorough French and English Home 

SCHOOL for twenty girls. Under the charge of 
Mme. H. Clerc and Miss M. L. Peck. French war- 
ranted to be spoken in two years. Terras, 8300 a 
year. Address Mme. H. Clerc. 

INSTRUCTION FOR EPILEPTICS. 

A delightful home: careful and judicious instruc- 
tion, combined with the most approved system of 
treatment, under a phy.sician of long experience in 
tliis disea.‘:e. Send for circulars and references. 

1>K. WILLIAMSON, New LoiiUoii, Conn. 

New York, Peekskill. 

The Peekskill flilitary Academy. 

Sixtieth year. Thorough preparation for college. 
Catalogue, with full particulars, on application. 
John N. Tilden, A M., M.D., ITincipal. 

New England Conservatory 

Founded by |UI ■ ■ o S a Carl Fablten, 

Dr. Ebea Tourjee. Wl IwlMOIV/* Director. 

Xhe Leading Conservatory of Amerlea. 
Calendar Free. FRANK W. HALE, Gen’l Mgr., Boston, Mass- 

rt U rtOTU A IVI tlioronghli/ liiu<)ht 

1 mail or personally, 

^itiintiona procured all pnpils i\licn competent. 
Uend for ciroiiinr. AV. <>}. ( ' H A FKIC 1C, 0»«ego, N. Y. 
Book keeping, reumauship, and Spanish thoroughly taught. 

QIJ^DTIJ write sen- 

Oriwix 1 tences in an hour by 

the celebrated non-shading, non-position, connec- 
tive vowel PERNIN method. Read like print; great 
brevity. Lessons by MAIL. Trial FREE. Write 
H. M. PERNIN, Author, Detroit, Mich. 

TA M M FPINO cause and cure; 
'AiilCirvll NvJ. information free. 

Write to School of Voice, 391 South First 
Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 


Ivippincott’s 


F^roriouirLciog 



A complete pronouncing Gazetteer or Geographical Dictionary of the World, 
containing notices of over 125,000 places, with recent and authentic in- 
formation respecting the Countries, Islands, Rivers, Mountains, Cities, Towns, 
etc., in every portion of the globe. 

Invaluable to the Student, Teacher, Merchant, Journalist and members of 
other learned professions. 

One Imperial 8vo volume of nearly 3000 pages. 

J8@“Send for free prospectus, with specimen pages and testimonials. 


PUBLISHED BY 

J. B. Lirpincott Company, 

For Sale by all Booksellers. PHILADELRTil A, F»A. 


2 


D^ucatiotiixl 


Pennsylvania, Chambersburg. 

Wilson College for Women. 

Fifty miles souihwestof Harrisburg, Pa., in famous 
Cumberland Valley. Six trains daily. Border cli- 
mate, avoiding bleak north. $250 per year lor board, 
room, etc., and all College Studies except Musicand 
Art. Large Music College and Art Scnool. Music 
Department this year, 164 independentoffreeclas.ses. 
Full faculty. College Oour.se, B. A and B.S. degrees ; 
Music College. B.M. Handsome Park, Large Build- 
ings. Steam Heat, Gymnasium, Observatory, Labor- 
atories. etc. No charge for distant pupil’s during 
Chilstmas and Easter vacations. 

Rev. J. Edgar, Ph.D., Pres. 

Pennsylvania, William.sport. 

Williamsport Dickinson Seminary. 

For both sexes. Regular and Elective Courses. 
Degrees conferred. Fits for College. Music, Art, 
Modern Languages, Specialtie.s. Steam heat, elec- 
tric lights, home comforts. $225 per year. 

Write for catalogue. 

E. J. Gray, D.D., President. 

South Carolina, Columbia. 

College for Women. 

A fine winter resort for girls and young ladies, 
where protection from inclement winters and un- 
.surpas.sed advantages in education are secured. 
Grounds (four acres), the handsomest of any school 
in the South, make a winter garden attractive for 
out-door exercise. Buildings heated by hot water. 
Appointments and sanitary arrangements first-class. 
French and German spoken by pupils and foreign 
teachers. Music and Art Specialties. Address the 
President, Rev. W. R. Atkinson, D.D. 

Maryland, 1214 Eutaw Place, Baltimore. 

The Sarah Randolph School 

FOR GIRLS. Founded by Miss S. N. 
Randolph, of Virginia. 1214 Eutaw 
Place, near Druid Hill Park. 

firs. A. L. Armstrong, Principal. 

New Hampshire, Portsmouth. 

Miss A. C. Morgan’s School for Young 

Ladies and Misses, 20th year. Reopens Sept. 27, 
1893. 

Virginia, Warrenton. 

Fauquier Institute for Young Ladies. 

Thirty-third session begins Thursday, Sept. 21, 
1893. Situated in Piedmont region of Virginia, 54 
miles from Washington, on Richmond and Danville 
Railroad. For catalogues, address 

Geo. G. Butler, A.M., Principal, 

New Jersey, Hackettstown. 

Hackettstown (N. J.) Institute. 

High Grade College Preparatory. Ladies’ College. 
Music, Art, Elocution. Best building of its class. 
Laboratory, two Gymnasiums. Location unsur- 
passed. Illu.strated Catalogue free. 

Rev. Geo. H. Whitney, D.D., President, 

Madame Mears. 

Boarding and Day School for Young Ladles. 62d 
year. Reopens October 3. 222 Madison Avenue. 


Worcester’s Dictionary 

« 

is the standard in Spelling, Pronunciation, and Defi- 
nition. It is the recognized authority in use among 
American schools and colleges, American orators, 
writers, poets, and statesmen, people of education, 
and the leading American newspapers and magazines. 
The work is for sale by all booksellers. Write to the 
publishers for specimen oages and testimonials. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 


3 


PHILADELPHIA, PA 



Pears’ is probably the only soap 
in the world with no free alkali in 
it. That is why it leaves the skin 
so soft and smooth— no alkali in it. 

It is kept a year at least; almost 
no water in it. That is why it goes 
so far and lasts • so long. 

Begin and end with Pears/ “A 
balm for the skin.” 

4 


'ti 


The following list comprises a collection of the brightest and 
best books for summer reading. To be had of all booksellers, or 
sent by the publishers, J. B. Lippincott Company, post-paid, on 
receipt of price. 


A Too Short Vacation. 

By LUCY LANGDON WILLIAMS and EMMA V. McLOUGHLIN. H'tl/i forty-eight illus- 
trations from their own Kodak. i2mo. Attractively bound in cloth, $1.30. 

“The vacation journeys of two bright, independent American girls. 
What they did not see on their trip was not worth seeing, and they de- 
scrie as well as they see. The journey led through England, Ireland, 
France, Germany, and Holland. The chapters are entertaining, and not 
lacking in information of more or less value. They were interested in 
living subjects, and every class is daguerrotyped upon the pages, and a 
feature of the book.’’ 

My Flirtations. 

By MARGARET WYNMAN, with Illustrations by MR. BERNARD PARTRIDGE. i2mo. 
Satin, $1.25. , 

“A lively and entertaining autobiographical record of a woman’s love 
experiences. The character portraits of her many wooers are drawn with 
a deft pen, and almost before one love adventure is finished it glides easily 
and naturally into another. At last she meets her fate, a result over which 
the male reader will take a malicious satisfaction, and the feminine reader 
will not be displeased.’’ 

The Holcombes. 

A Story of Virginia Home-Life. By MARY TUCKER MAGILL- i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

‘ ‘ A picture of home^life in old Virginia before the war. Diaries, letters, 
dialogues, conversation, and action make up the character of the story. 
The stranger to the domestic life of the South can nowhere find a more 
faithful picture of its former qualities and surroundings.” * 


5 


6 /. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

His Great Self. 

By MARION HARI,AND, author of “Alone,” “True as Steel,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25, 

‘ ‘ It calls up the days when the ladies flashed in brocades and swelled in 
hoops ; when the men were autocrats and discussed Shakespeare and Mr. 
Pope ; a time that even Thackeray, seeing the picturesque opportunities 
which it afforded the novelist, did not disdain to deal with, and which will 
always be treasured by the lovers of the old and the picturesque. Some 
of the author’s pages have about them the fragrance that scents a room 
when some antique cabinet has been opened, and there steals out the per- 
fume of thyme and lavender placed there by a hand that has long ago 
mouldered into dust.” 

John Gray. 

A Kentucky tale of the olden time. By JAMES EANE AEEEN, author of “Flute and 
Violin,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

‘ ‘ The unhappy love experience which forms the thread of the tale is 
but a chapter out of the life of almost any young man. And it is not 
dramatically told, either. Yet there is an intangible something in the book 
that now and then touches the spring of tears when the reader is least 
expecting it. It is a^ realistic story written by an idealist. The central 
character, John Gray, is as noble a specimen of young manhood as any 
idealist could create, yet always and everywhere he is entirely natural and 
human.” 

I Married a Soldier; 

Or, Old Days in the Old Army. By LYDIA SPENCER*LANE. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

” It is just such a book that a tender mother would write as a memorial 
for her children and grandchildren. It is thoroughly wholesome and 
healthy in tone ; a simple story, .so free from art or effort that it reaches the 
highest standard of excellence ; and so transparently true that it may serve 
for long years to come, gaining value as time goes on and makes the past 
historical.” 

Manulito; or, A Strange Friendship. 

By WILLIAM BRUEE LEFFINWELL. author of “ Wild-Fowl Shooting,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, 
$l.25‘ 

‘‘The scenes are laid in the forests and early settlements of the West, 
and to the lovers of the sportsman’s gun, be its object great game or small, 
the graphic descriptions of Western hunting and other sports will have a 
very delightful interest. The thrilling narrative of the hunt of the ‘ big 
elk,’ the trial of skill in woodcraft between Indian and white man, the neck- 
and-neck race between competing steeds, the wonderful combat between the 
white ‘ Gray Eagle’ and the great Indian chief, will delight all lovers of 
adventure. ’ ’ 


BRIGHT READING FOR SUMMER DAYS. 


7 


Recent Rambles; or, In Touch With Nature. 

By CHARL,ES C. ABBOTT, M.D., author of “A Naturalist’s Rambles About Home,” etc. 

Illustrated, izmo. Cloth, $2.00. 

“ Dr. Abbott walks abroad with eye and ear alert, a keenly appreciative 
mind, and returns to set down his impressions and opinions in pleasant 
style. In a former volume Dr. Abbott’s rambles were about home; in this 
he goes to New Mexico and Arizona, but comes back to the Delaware, with 
its persimmons and relics of Dutch inhabitants. In his walks Dr. Abbott 
met an old man who professed to have been unfitted for practical life by 
reading Thoreau’s ‘ Walden’ thirty-five years before ; but, as a rule, men 
did not interest the Rambler so deeply as did the birds, trees, flowers, and 
quiet of the fields ancf woods. The whole book invites to healthful rest 
and profitable study. The pictures, from photographs, are really beautiful, 
and add much to the value of the book.” 

Through Colonial Doorways. 

By ANNE HOLLINGSWORTH WHARTON. With a number of colonial illustrations from 

drawings specially made for the work. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

” It is a pleasant retrospect of fashionable New York and Philadelphia 
society during and immediately following the Revolution ; for there was 
a Four Hundred even in those days, and some of them were Whigs and 
some were Tories, but all enjoyed feasting and dancing, of which there 
seemed to be no limit. And this book tells us about the belles of the 
Philadelphia Meschianza, who they were, how they dressed, and how they 
flirted with Major Andre and other ofiicers in Sir William Howe’s wicked 
employ. And it introduces us to the scenes of gayety in Washington’s 
time, when he lived on Pearl Street, near the East River. And it tells 
about the famous Wistar parties, the origin of the high-caste Philadelphia 
assemblies, and a dozen other pleasant reminiscences.” 

Barbara Dering. 

By AMELIE RIVES. A Sequel to “ The Quick or the Dead ?” i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. Issued 

in Lippincott’s Series of Select Novels. Paper, 50 cents. 

” Miss Rives has treated the plot of her story with such wonderful skill 
that the characters seem not the creatures of a novelist, but creatures of 
real flesh and blood, living and moving, thinking and doing, not with the 
set regularity of so many puppets, but with the life and reality of beings 
of this world, moved by the same motives and inspired by the same thoughts 
as ourselves.” 

“The Quick or the Dead?” 

By AMELIE RIVES. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

“To me her novels have been of the greatest interest and value: they 
have suggested new trains of thought ; given me new ideas ; opened up 
new vistas — in fact, their reading has been not only pleasurable, but 
profitable.” 


8 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


The Witness of the Sun. 

By AMEIvIE RIVES. i2mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 

“That Miss Rives has been thought worthy of recognition at the hands 
of critics North and South is the strongest evidence of the fact that she 
has done something out of the common, and we will preface whatever we 
have to write by saying that we are not among the least of her admirers.” 

Broken Chords. 

A Novel. By MRS. GEORGE McCEEEEAN (Harford Fleming), author of “A Carpet 
Knight,” and “Cupid and the Sphinx.” i2mo. Cloth, j/j pages. $1.25. Issued in 
Eippincott’s Series of Select Novels. i2mo. Paper covers. 50 cents. 

“An American tale of domestic life, with a stroqg emotional interest. 
Mrs. McClellan writes with conscientious conviction and meaning to produce 
work which shall do more than merely excite or amuse. She touches on 
some of the gravest of social problems ; not uncertainly, yet with kindness 
and sympathy.” 

Born of Flame. 

A Rosicrucian Story. By MRS. MARGARET B. PEEKE. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“The scenes of the story are principally laid in a region at the Adiron- 
dacks. The heroine, a lovely and noble woman, has been reared in India, 
and by her are illustrated some of the mysticisms of the religion of the 
East. She it is who solves the mysteries of the old house of the Adiron- 
dacks, and performs other important work through her occult power. Mrs. 
Peeke has told this story in a style of absorbing interest, and the charge 
cannot be made against it that it is either hackneyed in plot or common- 
place in development.” 

Captain Kings Military Novels. 

The Colonel’s Daughter. i2mo. cioth. illustrated. $1.25. 

Marion’s Faith. i2mo. Cloth, illustrated. $1.25. 

Captain Blake. j2mo. cioth. illustrated. $1.25. 

The ‘Colonel’s Christmas Dinner, j^mo. cioth. $1.25. 

Kitty’s Conquest. i2mo. cioth. $1.00. 

Starlight Ranch, and Other Stories. i2mo. cioth. $1.00. 

Laramie ; or. The Queen op Bedlam. i2mo. cioth. $1.00. 

The Deserter, and From the Ranks. i2mo. cioth. $1.00. 

Two Soldiers, and Dunraven Ranch. j2mo. cioth. $1.00. 

A Soldier’s Secret, and An Army Portia. j2mo. Cloth. $1.00. 

Foes in Ambush, ready late in June. 

“It is like a long draught of clear, cool spring water after a hot and 
dusty desert ride to read these fresh, breezy, wholesome stories, peopled by 
manly men and womenly women, and full of the bold, free life of the soldier 
on the frontier, with enough of the schemes of scamps to give them lively 
interest, and abounding in brilliant and charming pictures of the life of the 
soldier in the quiet of peace at the romote frontier posts and the thrilling 
excitement of battle with wily, savage, and desperate foes.” 


BRIGHT READING FOR SUMMER DA YS. 


9 


A Leafless Spring. 

By OSSIP SCHUBIN, author of “O Thou, My Austria,” ‘‘Erlach Court,” “Countess Erika’s 

Apprenticeship,” etc. Translated from the German by MARY J. S AFFORD. i2mo. 

Cloth, $1.25. 

“ Our author treats of her subjects with an ease and felicity which give 
them life and reality, and we gladly glide with her through the gilded 
saloons of the Parisian and Viennese aristocracy, or amid the dimmer 
splendors of Roman and Venetian palaces, bn intimate terms with that 
society of which Motley wrote that ‘ You must be intimate with the Pharaohs 
or stay at home !’ For it is among the fashions and fortunes, the loves, 
hates, and humors of one class that Ossip Schubin seeks her themes, and a 
very pleasant society it is.” 

Val-Maria. 

A Romance of the Time of Napoleon I. By MRS. LAWRENCE TURNBULL, author of The 

Catholic Man.” With photogravure frontispiece from a drawing by Kenyon Cox. i2mo. 

Ornamented cover, gilt top, $1.25. 

“A romance of peculiar beauty and suggestiveness. It twines itself 
about the life of a little child, son of a nobleman whose lofty nature revolts 
from the Emperor Napoleon’s legalized crimes. The boy has the soul of 
an artist, and, as he grows up, expends his strength upon a statue of his 
ideal Emperor, different from yet nobly like the real man. Around this 
unique situation is woven a story vibrating with the intensity of a mother’s 
love. It has the same pleasant style, pure diction, and warm human interest 
which made ‘ The Catholic Man’ so attractive to all readers. ’ ’ 

A Riddle of Luck. 

By MARY E. STONE, author of “A Fair Plebeian,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ A genuinely entertaining story in which true human nature and true 
love form a strong combination. The hero is a disappointed littHateur, 
who turns tramp, and yet shows in the course of events that he has manly 
stuff in him despite the unfortunate conditions under which he makes our 
acquaintance. In his wanderings he encounters a ghost, who agrees to help 
him to fame and fortune if he will give him his body six months in the 
year. The bargain is struck, the tramp writes under the spirit’s direction, 
and, of course, finds a publisher. Various complications arise from the 
joint partnership, and an unblushing attempt is made to cheat the poor 
ghost. In the end all goes well with all concerned. ‘ The Riddle of Ruck’ 
is worth guessing. ’ ’ 

A Sketch in the Ideal.. 

A Romance. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

‘‘From the brilliant gold and crimson leaf which brightens the opening 
page to the tender words written as finis, this book is a poem in prose ; a 
delicate breathing forth of pure, peaceful, happy imaginings. A husband 
and wife who are one in thought and feeling, in aspirations and belief ; who 
live in and for each other, without ever forgetting or neglecting the gentle 
courtesies of intercourse with less favored mortals.” 


10 


/ B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Novels of E. Marlitt 

It is through the delightful translations of Mrs. A. L. Wister that the 
novels of this celebrated German author have become so popular in America. 
They have now been profusely illustrated with characteristic full-page draw- 
ings from the original German editions, and include the following volumes : 


Old Mam’selle’s Secret, 

At the Councillor’s. 

The Second Wife. 

The Lady with the Rubies. 
The Owl’s Nest. 


Countess Gisela. 

In the Schillingscourt, 

The Bailiff’s Maid. 

Gold Elsie. 

The Little Moorland Princess. 


Price in sets, lo volumes, $15.00. 


Mrs. A. L. Wister s Translations from the 

German. 


Countess Erika’s Apprenticeship. By 
Ossip Schubin. $1.25. 

“ O Thou, My Austria !” By Ossip Schu- 
bin. $1.25. 

Erlach Court. By Ossip Schubin. $1.25. 
The Alpine Fay. By E. Werner. $1.25. 
The Owl’s Nest. By E. Marlitt. $1.25. 
Picked Up in the Streets. By H. Scho- 
bert. $1.25. 

Saint Michael. By E. Werner. $1.25. 
Violetta. By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel. 
$1.25. 

The Lady with the Rubies. By E. Mar- 
litt. $1.25. 

Vain Forebodings. By E. Oswald. $1.25. 
A Penniless Girl. By W. Heimburg. $1.25. 
Quicksands. By Adolph Streckfuss. $1.50. 
Banned and Blessed. ByE. Werner. $1.50. 
A Noble Name. By Claire von Glumer. $1.50. 
From Hand to Hand, By Golo Raimund. 
$1.50. 

Severa. By E. Hartner. $1.50. 

The Eichhofs. By Moritz von Reichenbach. 
$1.50. 
i2mo. 


A New Race. By Golo Raimund. $1.25. 
Castle Hohenwald. By Adolph Streck- 
fuss. $1.50. ' 

Margarethe. By E. Juncker. Si .50. 

Too Rich. By Adolph Streckfuss. Si- 50 - 
A Family Feud. By Ludwig Harder. $1.25. 
The Green Gate By Ernst Wichert. Si. 50. 
Only a Girl. By Wilhelmine von Hillem. 
$1.50. 

Why Did He Not Die? By Ad. von Volck- 
hauser. Si -50. 

Hulda. By Fanny Lewald. Si -50. 

The Bailiff’s Maid. By E. Marlitt. Si .25. 
In the Schillingscourt, By E. Marlitt. 
Si. 50. 

Countess Gisela. By E. Marlitt. Si -50. 

At the Councillor’s. By E. Marlitt. $1.50. 
The Second Wife. By E. Marlitt. Si -50. 
The Old Mam’selle’s Secret. By E. Mar- 
litt. $1.50. 

Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt. Si-SO- 
The Little Moorland Princess. By E. 
Marlitt. $1.50. 

Sold only in 


Attractively bound in cloth. Thirty-four volumes in twenty-three. 

sets. $32.75 per set. 


“ Mrs. A. r. Wister, through her many translations of novels from the 
German, has established a reputation of the highest order for literary j'udg- 
ment, and for a long time her name upon the title-page of such a transla- 
tion has been a sufficient guarantee, to the lovers of fiction of a pure and 
elevating character, that the novel would be a cherished home favorite. 
This faith in Mrs. Wister is fully justified by the fact that among her 
more than thirty translations that have been published by Tippincott’s 
there has not been a single disappointment. And to the exquisite judg- 
ment of selection is to be added the rare excellence of her translations, 
which has commanded the admiration of literary and linguistic scholars.” 


BRIGHT READING FOR SUMMER DAYS. 


II 


The Man of Feeling. 

By HENRY MACKENZIE. Illustrated by WIEEIAM CUBITT COOKE. i6mo. Cloth, 
uncut, $1.00 ; half calf or half morocco, $2.25. 

“While other works are extolled, admired, and reviewed, those of 
Mackenzie will be loved and wept over. They cannot be out of date till 
the dreams of young imagination shall vanish and the deepest sympathies 
of love and hope be stilled forever. The tender pleasure which ‘ The Man 
of Feeling’ excites is wholly without alloy. Its hero is the most beautiful 
personification of gentleness, patience, and meek sufferings which the heart 
can conceive.” 

Little Miss Muffet. 

A Story for Girls. By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY. i2mo. Cloth, with Illustrations, $1.25. 

“It is quite obvious to the readers of Miss Carey’s works that she is 
fond of young people ; that the distinctive characteristic throughout all her 
books is a tendency to elevate to lofty aspirations, to noble ideas, and to 
purity of thought. With great descriptive power, considerable and often 
quiet fun, there is a delicacy and tenderness, a knowledge and strength of 
purpose, combined with so much fertility of resource and originality, that 
the interest never flags, and the sensation on putting down any of her works 
is that of having dwelt in a thoroughly healthy atmosphere.” 

Other Stories by Miss Carey. 

Aunt Diana. Merle’s Crusade. Esther. 

Our Bessie. Averil. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.25 per volume. Five volumes, uniform binding, in neat box, $6.25. 


Novels by Miss Carey. 

But Men Must Work. Sir Godfrey’s Granddaughters. 

Mary St. John. Heriot’s Choice. 

i2mo. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, $1.00. 


The Search for 
Wooed and Married. 

Nellie’s Memories. 

Queenie’s Whim. 

Not Like Other Girls. 

Wee Wifie. 


Basil Lyndhurst. 

Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. 
For Lilias. 

Robert Ord’s Atonement. 
Uncle Max. 

Only the Governess. 


Bound only in cloth, $1.00. 


“ Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey has achieved an enviable reputation as a 
writer of tales of a restful and quiet kind. They tell pleasant stories of 
agreeable people, are never sensational, and have a genuine moral purpose 
and helpful tone, without being aggressively didactic or distinctly religious 
in character.” 


12 


/. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Stories by Julian Gordon. 

A Dipi^omat’s Diary.' A SuccESSFui. Man. 

Vampires and Mademoiseeee Reseda. Two stories in one book. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.00 per vol. 

“The cleverness and lightness of touch which characterized ‘A Diplo- 
mat’s Diary’ are not wanting in the later work of the American lady who 
writes under the pseudonyme of Julien Gordon. In her former story the 
dialogue is pointed and alert, the characters are clear-cut and distinct, and 
the descriptions picturesque. As for the main idea of ‘ A Successful Man,' 
the intersection of two wholly different strata of American life, — one fast 
and fashionable, the other domestic and decorous, — it is worked out with 
much skill and alertness of treatment to its inevitably tragic issue.” 

A Study in Scarlet. 

By A. CONAN DOYLE. Illustrated Edition. i2mo. Cloth, $i.oo. Paper Edition, 50 cents. 

“It is the strongest, most attractive, and interesting novel which has 
appeared on the ‘ Critic’s’ table for some time.” 

Far in the Forest. 

By S. WEIR MITCHELL, author of “ Hephzibali Guinness,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“Dr. Mitchell shows in this, as in his other novels, a keen knowledge 
of human nature, the power to grasp and portray remarkable situations, a 
hearty recognition of manliness in all its phases, and a thorough under- 
standing of the intricacies of the feminine mind. It is a capital novel. ’ ’ 

A Shadow’s Shadow. 

By LULAH RAGSDALE. i2mo. Paper, jo cents. Cloth, $1.00. 

“The love story of an actress, one possessed of genius, but the public 
recognition of which became a fact only after she was twenty-six years of 
age. The story goes with a vividness that some may call too great ; but 
it exemplifies what life may mean of exhilarating motion when the con- 
straints that numb so much of the ‘ civilized ’ world to-day are released. 
It is a strong, very strong story.” 

Stolen Steps. 

By SQUIER L. PIERCE. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, $1.00. 

“ Mr. Pierce has a taste for tangling up his thread to quite an extensive 
extent, but as in his ‘Di,’ so in this story, after keeping the readers in a 
state of mystification to near the end, he treats them to a genuine surprise 
party of the most satisfactory character.” 


BRIGHT READING FOR SUMMER DAYS. 


•3 


The Wide, Wide World. 

By ELIZABETH WETHERELL. Printed from new plates, and illustrated by eight fulipage 
pictures and thirty engravings in the text from drawings by Frederick Dielman. i2mo. 
Cloth, attractively bound. 75 cents. Paper Edition. Thirty illustrations in text. 50 cents. 
Also published in small 8vo volume. With eight etchings by Frederick Dielman. Printed 
on laid paper. Extra cloth binding, $2.50. 

“ This book is not a new one, but the best evidence of its excellence is 
that it has maintained its popularity for over a quarter of a century. It is 
one of those publications that do not die. It is so natural, lifelike, simple, 
graphic, and pathetic that it could not fail to attract interest on the one 
hand and elevate on the other. ’ ’ ' 

Patience. 

By ANNA B. WARNER. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“It is a pretty, wholesome story of country ways and a country home 
in the days of stage-coaches, spinning-wheels, and the district school. The 
heroine is captivating, and the rural scenes are charming.” 

Other Stories by the Misses Warner. 

Daisy. A Sequel to Melbourne House. 

Dollars and Cents. Queechy. 

The Hills op the Shatemuc. My Brother’s Keeper. 

Say AND Seal. The Wide, Wide World. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.50 per volume. Sets of eight volumes, uniform binding, in neat box, $11.75. 

“ The Misses Warner are among the best friends a young girl can have 
as chaperones into the delightful kingdom of romance.” 

Stories by Frances Courtenay Baylor. 

A Shocking Example. Behind the Blue Ridge. 

On Both Sides. 

i2mo. Extra cloth, $1.25 per volume. Complete set, in neat box, $3.75. 

“ One of the best and brightest of American short-story writers.” 

Di. 

By SQUIER L. PIERCE. Illustrated. t2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ In the play of the author’s imagination there is developed a pleasant 
picture, such as is often found in the lives of those who choose forHhem- 
selves what constitutes much of the real happiness of existence.” 

Her Brother Donnard. 

By EMILY E. VEEDER. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. Second Edition. Paper, 50 cents. 

“There are some very clever bits of dialogue and some very good 
descriptive language in this pretty little story. ‘ Her Brother Donnard’ 
makes his way from the harum-scarum, mischievous, fun-loving lad of 
twelve, through a studious young life, to the vestments and position of a 
Catholic priest, and fulfils his love and devotion to his sister in sacrificing 
his life to save hers.” 


14 


/ B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


A Modern Agrippa. Patience Barker: 

A Tale of Old Nantucket. By MRS. RICHARD P. WHITE, author of “Dove in the Tropics.” 
i2mo. Cloth, ornamental, $i.oo. 

“A Modern Agrippa” is a tale of the society life of the day. An 
antique hand-mirror, centuries old, becomes, under very peculiar circum- 
stances, the property of a j'^oung girl. Dilfering somewhat from Agrippa’ s 
glass, which showed the evil desires of others, this mirror presents a 
clouded surface when the owner commits a light or venial sin, but shivers 
to atoms on the verge of mortal wrong-doing. ' Upon this strange and 
unusual situation a strong and interesting story is built up. 

“Patience Barker” is, as its sub-title denotes, a story of Nantucket in 
the old whaling times. 


Taken by Siege. 

i2mo. Cloth, $i.2§. 

“A graphic and very interesting anonymous story of a young journal- 
ist’s experiences in New York. Who the hero may be is enveloped in 
mystery, but that the heroine is Miss Clara Louise Kellogg there is little 
doubt.” 


An Exceptional Case. 

By ITTI-KINNEY RENO, author of ‘‘Miss Breckenridge : A Daughter of Dixie.” j2mo. 
Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, $1.00.. 

“ An entertaining novel : a notable contribution to the rapidly growing 
literature of the South.” 

The Story of Don Miff. 

By VIRGINIUS DABNEY, author of ‘‘ Gold That Did Not Glitter.” i2mo. Cloth, $1.30. 

“Hardly a single chapter can be read without a laugh, and yet there 
are some which will bring an inevitable lump into the reader’s throat. . . . 
There are passages which, in simple pathos, remind one vividly of Bret 
Harte.” 


The Thousand and One Days. 

A collection of Persian Tales in two volumes. Edited by JUSTIN HUNTUEY MCCARTHY, 
with illusirations by Stanley L. Wood. i2mo. $4.00. 

“ Nothing good is ever lo.st, and these stories are so excellent, so remi- 
niscent of the ever-fresh night-tales of all our youths, that it is surpris- 
ing they have not long ago wandered into a modern English dress. To 
say that they will at once be accorded a place in the library beside the 
hallowed version of old is to say all that need be said in their praise.” 


BRIGHT READING FOR SUMMER DAYS. 


15 


, Bound in Paper, 50 cents each. - 

“ “ Cloth, $1.00 “ 

A Little Irish Girl. Lady Patty. 

Two New Stories by “THE DUCHESS.” 

“Mrs. Hungerford, ‘The Duchess,’ up to the present time, has written 
thirty-two novels ; her first story, ‘ Phyllis,’ being published when she was 
but nineteen. The delicacy of her love scenes, the lightness of touch that 
distinguishes her numerous flirtations, can only be equalled by the pathos 
she has thrown into her work every now and then, as if to temper her 
brightness with a little shade. Her descriptions of scenery are specially 
vivid and delightful, and very often full of poetry.’’ 

For His Sake, and Found Wanting. 

“Mrs. Alexander once wrote a very charming story called, ‘The Wooing 
o’ It,’ which gave her an almost world-wide reputation as a writer of fiction. 
Many of her novels have been published since that time, but none of them 
are equal to these two new stories.’’ 

One of the Bevans. By mrs. robert joceeyn. 

‘ ‘ A sporting story which entertains and delights, and leaves not a 
particle of unpleasant after-taste. ’ ’ 

' A Big Stake. By MRS. BOBERT JOCEEYN. 

‘ ‘ Strong in its movement and highly entertaining in its development. ’ ’ 

Two Masters. By b. m. croker. 

“All the love affairs are honest and the girls such creatures as really 
exist.’’ 

Only Human; or Justice, and The Other 
Man’s Wife. 

“John Strange Winter, the nom de guerre oi Mrs. Arthur Stan- 
NARD, was adopted by the advice of the publishers of her first books, and 
it was only when ‘ Bootle’s Baby’ appeared that it became known who the 
author really was. Since that time a number of excellent novels have 
issued from her pen ; they deal with garrison life, and show an excellent 
understanding of the surroundings of the British officer and the social 
conditions of the army.’’ 



i6 


/. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


‘ Lipphicott's Select Novels. — Continued. 

Bound in Paper. 50 cents each. 

“ “ Cloth. $1.00 “ 

Drawn Blank. By mrs. robert jocei^yn. 

“ A book of real merit that will entertain every reader.” 

A North-Country Comedy. By m. betham edwards. 

‘ ‘ So full of bright, sparkling mots, that its reading is a pleasure. ’ ’ 

Was He the Other? By isobee fitzroy. 

” The droll and enforced humor of the story makes it thoroughly enter- 
taining reading.” 

A Last Love. ByCEORCES OHNET. 

“This novel commends itself strongly to the reader by the skill with 
which its plot is woven, by its fine analysis of motives, its vivid force in 
description, and its quality as a work of literary art.” 

A Sister’s Sin. By MRS. CAMERON. 

‘‘Vigorously written, with plenty of life' and animation to recommend it.” 

Jack’s Secret. By mrs. cameron. 

‘‘A pretty story that should retain old friends and make many new 
ones for the author.” 

A Daughter’s Heart. By mrs. cameron. 

‘‘A wide circle of admirers always welcome a new work by Mrs. 
Cameron. Her style is pure and interesting, and she depicts marvellously 
well the daily social life of the English people.” 

The New Mistress. By GEORGE MANVIELE FENN. 

‘‘An absorbingly interesting picture of the trials, experiences, bright 
phases, and tragedies of a teacher’s life.” 

Two English Girls. ByMABEEHART. 

‘ ‘ One may well be thankful !br the pure air of such a book as this.^ 
The author’s ideals are noble ; she shows a very fair sense of humor ; her 
delineation of character is admirable, and her style is delicate and refined.” 

Paynton Jacks, Gentleman. By marian bower. Ready in 

July- 

‘‘Well written, delicate in tone, and with a true insight into character 
and the springs of human action, it gives evidence of genuine talent for 
the weaving of quietly attractive romance.” 

COMPLETE LIST OF LIPPINCOTT’S SERIES OF NOVELS and Fiction Cata- 
logue mailed free on application to the publishers. 



ST. LOUIS MAGAZINE 

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8T. LOUIS MAGAZ INE, 

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‘VOICES OE SPRINO. A service of Song and 
Recitation, for Children’s Day. Price S cents. 

ACniJM OP KONOM. Edited by R. P. Southard. 
For Soprano or Tenor voice. Price 50 cents. POEIO 
OF HOME SONGS. A collection of pretty and 
pleasing songs with choruses. Just the book for the 
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ABCllER’S SECOND ORGAN ROOK. New 
and selected music, from the best writers for the in- 
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gan. Price 82.00. ORGAN MOSAICS No. 2. 
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Pricetl. GARNERED GEMS, by H. R. Palmer. 
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Price 35 cents. COEUMBES, a beautiful cantata 
for adults, by H. Butterworth and Geo. F. Root. Es- 
pecially appropriate for rendering during this year. 
Price 75cent8. (THE MESICAE VISITOR sup- 
plies all reasonable demands for music for the choir 
and for organists. Price $1 50 a year. Special terms 
to clubs of five or more. Sample copy 10 cents. 

Any of the above named books will be sent post-paid 
to any address, on receipt of marked price. 

PUBLISHED BY 


WILL TELL YOU THAT 

EVERYBODY IN KANSAS CITY 


THE JOHN CHURCH CO-, 

CtNCnraATI, . . NEW YORK, . - CHIOARO 


READS 

THE KANSAS CITY STAR. 


WORLD’S FAIR, EUROPE, HOLY LAND. 

Select parties; best ticketing facilities; choic- 
est ocean berths. Send for “ Tourist Gazette.” 

H. GAZE & SONS, 113 Broadway, New York, 
Official Ticket Agts. Chief Trunk Lines. (Est. 1814.) 


Circulation, Daily, over 54,000 copies. 
Circulation, Weekly, over 100,000 copies. 


PLAYS 


Speakers, for School, 

Club and Parlor. Catalogue free. 
T. S. DENISON, Publisher, Chlcaga 


POPULAR MILITARY NOVELS CAPTAIN CHARLES KINO, U. S, A 

The Colonel’s Christmas 
Dinner. 

zamo. Cloth . , . . ft. 35 

Captain Blake. 

Illustrated. lamo. Cloth . (1.25 

The Colonel's Daughter. 

Illustrated .... ^1.25 


Marion’s Faith. 

Illustrated .... ^1.25 

Starlight Ranch. 

ft. 00 

Kitty’s Conquest. 

^I.OO 

Laramie. 

ft. 00 

The Deserter, and 

From the Ranks. 

ft.oa 

Two Soldiers, and 

Dunraven Ranch. 

^I.OO 

A Soldier’s Secret, and 

An Army Portia. 

^ ^I.oo 

*•* For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. 

J. B. IiIPPlNCOTT COlBPflfJY, 715 and 717 IWarket Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 

17 




A Strong Team 



is the result 


when Godey’s combines 


with Lippincott’s. 

# 

Each is pulling ^3.00 


singly, but when they 


join, the load is less — to 


you — by #1.50. 

For 

$4.50 

You can have 

GODEYS 

AND 

LIPPINCOTT’S 

For one year. 

Address 

Godey Publishing Company, 

21 Park Row, 

New York City. 


18 



^ “Borroflis” Ctiition 


of m llanblep Cro00 

In Six Large Crown 8vo Volumes, 

WITH Numerous Illustrations, 

$2.25 PER Volume. 



This inimitable series of volumes is absolutely unique, there being nothing approach- 
ing to them in all the wide range of modern or ancient literature. Written by Mr. Surtees, 
a well-known country gentleman, who'was passionately devoted to the healthy sport of 
fox-hunting, and gifted with a keen spirit of manly humor of a Rabelaisian tinge, they 
abound with incidents redolent of mirth and jollity. The artist, Mr. Leech, was himself 
also an enthusiast in the sport, and has reflected in his illustrations, with instinctive ap- 
preciation, the rollicking abandon of the author’s stories. 



¥ 

List of the Novels: 

Hanhltj) CroiSsJ; 

Or, Mr. Jorrocks’s Hunt. 

iilamma; 

Or, The Richest Commoner in England. 

JHf. JTartB liomfoiti’jf 

,^ponge’s$ importing 

COUf 

^(am or 3ainglrtsi? 
©aiol)ur& (grange; 

Or, The Sporting Adventures of Thomas 
Scott, Esq. 

¥ 



“The ‘Jorrocks’ tales appear to be destined to attain longevity, and John Leech’s 
comic illustrations are splendidly reproduced in this edition.’’— Ledger. 

“This series of novels accurately reproduces sporting life in England half a century 
ago, and although most readers would hardly care to mingle in the society described, 
there is a breeziness and ‘ go’ about the characters and incidents that lend the reading 
about them a fascination which one is half ashamed to acknowledge.’’— Transcript. 


Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, 

2$. Compang, 

715 AND 717 MARKBT STRBBT, PHILADELPHIA. 

19 


BOOKSELLERS. 



MISCELLKISEOUS 



GORHAM SOLID SILVER. 


The demand for Something New in Silverware is con- 
stant. 

Articles of unique and unconventional design are 
sought because they present a desirable exclusiveness. 

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GORHAM M’FG CO., ■ 

SILVERSMITHS, 

BROADWAY AND I QTH STREET, 
NEW YORK. 


CROSBY’S 

Vitalized Phosphites, 



a NLIKE all laboratory phosphates, is extracted 
from the ox-brain and wheat germ, the very 
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To all suflFering from brain fatigue, nervous debil- 
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of sustaining mental and physical vigor, and pre- 
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Descriptive pamphlets mailed free on application. 
Druggists or by mail, $1.00. Prepared by 


THE t CROSBY CO. (only), 
68 W. 25th St.. 

N Ew York, 

Be sure the label has < 
this signature 49* 





PURE, OEUICIOUS, 
TNIOURBSHIIMO 



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20 


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A trial by the side of Its competitors will prove 
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SVRACIISE, N. Y. 

BRANCH OFFICES : 

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Boston, Mass., 25 School St. Omaha, Neb.. 1609^ Farnam St. 
Fhila., Pa., 335 Chestnut St. Baltimore, Md., 11 E. Baltimore 
Cincinnati. O., 166 Walnut St. Street, 

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St. Paul, Minn., Chamber Com* Peoria, 111., IIB North Adams St. 

merce Building. Milwaukee, Wls., 82 Wisconsin 

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TYPEWRITERS HALF PRICE. 

We have a large stock of all kinds of writing machines, new and second-hand, at very low figures. 
We buy, sell, rent, or exchange anywhere In the country. Send for large Illustrated catalogue describing 
machines. Everything guaranteed. 

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200 La Salle Street, Chicagro, III. 

23 




you 

^or b^e World’s Fair ab 
Ch ica^o, bake bl^e Readi^^ 
Railroad’? Scei^ic Lebi^^) 
Valley Roube. 


^V‘ ^A/^ 

Between Philadelphia and New York. 


* % * * 


^ ^Eni §ceHic ^oUte 

Between New York or Philadelphia and Buffalo, 
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* * ^ * 



|oiJGt]l^EEp5IE ^I^IDGE I^oUTe 

Between Philadelphia and Boston. 


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I^oUTe to tHe §ej^ 

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* * * * 

^ ]^oUte 

To all points in interior Pennsylvania. 

* * * * 

Fast and frequent train service, comfortable and elegantly equipped 
coaches, and the use of anthracite coal in the locomotives, insuring cleanli- 
ness and comfort, make the "Reading" a popular route of travel. 

/. SlVElG/tRD, c. G, HANCOCK, 

Gen’l Mamgcr. Gen’l Pass. Agent, 


24 




TRIP 
TO THE 


WORLD’S FAIR 


AND 
RETURN 


ON A HIGH GRADE BICYCLE. 

THE COMMON SENSE is the machine for a sensible person for many reasons: 


Best materials and work- 
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and prove the most econom- 
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son buying a Bicycle expects 
to receive the worth of his 
money and a first-class 
machine. 


Always has a market 
value. For this reason 
the Common Sense Bicycle 
is pre-eminently at the 
head of the procession. 
No one should purchase a 
Bicycle until they have seen 


Model E.— Weight 36 Pounds. 

T U 17 P DM MOM OCTMOC We claim it is the best wheel on earth for general use. 
I lIlL vUlTlIllUli OkllOCi Attractive, l.ight in Weight, L.OW in Price. 

GREAT BARGAINS IN SECOND-HAND MACHINES. 

THE COMMON SENSE BICYCLE MEG. CO., 1219 Callowhill Street, Philada. 

Agents Wanted in Unoccupied Territory. 



RALEIGHS. 


BEST, FflSTEST.^^ 

You would be better pleased 
with your mount if it were 
one. 

RALEIGH CYCLE CO., Ltd., 

Abingdon Square, 

NEW YORK. 

Price, ;^i6o. Send for catalogue. 



KING OF THEM ALL 

24 Page Cat^logtio Free. Agents Wanted* 

MONARCH CYCLE CO. 

Lake sndHaUtead Sti., CHICAtiU, I'.&A. 


Tit goes and it stays. 

'>] 

:|j the 

Warwick 


ytgoes the fastest and stays in good con-h 
^dition the longest. It goes the bestp 
^because it’s light and smooth running. 
:^It wears well because it’s made with the^ 
^ greatest care and of the best material, fc 

Send for catalogue, fiee. u 

^ Warwick Cycle Mfg. Co., Springfield, Mass., TT.S.A. ^ 


25 


WITH THE WITS. 


Huckleberry Hilltop in Town. 



Bertie to Bennie. — “See the jay with the awful make-up ! Let’s have some 
fun with him.” 



Let’s all have some fun.” 


26 



^PROPRrETH^RV HRT 



More Great Cures of 


Torturing and Disfiguring 
Skin, Scalp, and Blood Diseases are 
Daily Made by the Cuticura Remedies than 
By all other Skin and Blood Remedies Combined 

To those who have suffered long and hopelessly, and who have lost 
faith in doctors, medicines, and all things human, the CUTICURA 
REMEDIES appeal with a force never before realized in the history of 
medicine. Every hope, every expectation awakened by them, has been 
more than fulfilled. Thousands of the best physicians that ever wrote 
a prescription endorse and prescribe them. Druggists everywhere rec- 
ommend them, while countless numbers in every part of the land say, 

“WHY DON’T YOU TRY CUTICURA 

Remedies ? They are the best in the world.” They cleanse the system 
by internal and external medication of every eruption, impurity, and 
disease, and constitute the most effective treatment of modern times. 
Hence, since a cake of CUTICURA SOAP, costing 25 cents, is suji- 
cient to test the virtues of these great curatives, there is now no rea^n 
why hundreds of thousands should go through life tortured, disfigured, 
and humiliated by skin and scalp diseases which are speedily and per- 
manently cured by the CUTICURA REMEDIES at a trifling cost. 

Sold throughout the world. Price, CunctniA, 50c.; CtmcuRA 
Soap, 25c.; Cuticura Resolvent, $1. Prepared by Potter 
Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boston, “ All About 
the Blood, Skin, Scalp, and Hair” mailed free. 

i^-For Pimples, Blackheads, Bed and Oily Skin, Bed, 

Rough Bands and Falling Bair, use Cuticura Soap. 




27 




Qjinrmjinjxrinnn^^ anruxruTjmjTJijriJTJxruxruxrLrinnjTJT^^ 

DEER PARK AND OAKLAND 

ON THE CREST OF THE ALLEGHANIES, 

3000 Feet Above Tide- Water. 


SEHSON OPENS JUNE 15. 1593. 


injxmiJTJiJTj^jTjTJTJTJinjxnnjxmajiJxrmruajTJTruTJTruTnnJxrirLJXTJTj^ 


• 

These famous momiiain resorts, situated at 

• c 

• 

the suvtmit of the Alleghanies a 7 id directly upon 



the main line of the Baltimore and Ohio Rail- 

• I 

• 

road, have the adva^itage of its splendid vestibuled 



expressdrain service both east and west, a 7 id are 

• 1 

•> 

therefore readily accessible from all parts of the 


10 

country. All Baltimore and Ohio trams stop 

• 


at Deer Park and Oakland during the season. 

• 1 


The houses and grounds are lighted by Elec- 

t0\ 

in 

tricity ; Turkish a^id Russian baths and large^ 

0)i 

Lil 

swimyning-pools are provided for ladies and gen- 


tlemeyi, and suitable grotinds for lawn tetinis ; 

DOi 

Z 

there are bowling alleys and billiard rooms ; fine 


ridifig and driving horses, carriages, motmtain 



wagons, tally-ho coaches, etc., are kept for hire ; 

j 


in short, all the necessary adjuncts for the com- 

• 1 


fort, health, or pleasure of patroyis. 

• < 

• 

• 

Rates, ^6o, $75, and $90 a month, 

• 1 

• 

according^ to location. 

i 

• 1 


] njxfinjxnj mnjTJTJ TTinjTJiJTrin j TfiJi^^ n jrmTjrnjTjTj ijajTjajaruTJTjTjxrinjijTJTjTj^^ J 

H LL communications should be addressed to 
GEORGE D. DeSHIELDS, Manager Baltimore and 
Ohio Hotels, Cumberland, Md., up to June 10; after that 
§ date, either Deer Park or Oakland, Garrett County, Md. 

^iJTjxruTJiJTJTJxruiJiJTJxnxiJTXUxriJTJinjiruiJTJiJUT^^ 

28 


inri 


i-i-r r'Hr [jrr* 

TV^ISCeL^I^T^NEQUS 

dcldPriHHdyr''PPHH?HZggg^gg£'rJr^rJrJ.^,ap';^?^?;av=>p-^3?r?T;T?J?y;3P 




PASTEUR 


GERM PROOF 
WATER FILTERS 


Are constructed on scientific principles to meet every requirement for pure drinking water. The filtering medium will 
remove CMEiPIj'ERA.t 'M'X'PiiRAIPf A.\MA MAMSEAHE 4^ERItAS» The Filter is applicable to city water 

supply or for cistern or well water. Medals and diplomas awarded by scientific societies and expositions. 

"Cornell University, Ithaca, N. V., September iSgs. 

" I knoTU of no filter which, in my opinion, can be depended upon to remove disease germs but the I^asteur. I 
should have no fear ofi water for drinking purposes, no ^natter hosu epidemic and violent the disease prevailing, 
provided it were filtered with a properly sterilized Pasteur Filter. I use the filter in my house all the time. 

"F. HI PCHCOCK, Jr. , Professor of Hygiene and Physical Culture at Cornell University." 

Letters Patent of the United States, covering any germ-proof filtering medium of unglazed porcelain, have been 
granted to Chas. Chamberland, of Paris, France. The undersigned, being the sole licensees for this country, warn all 
infringers, whether makers, sellers, or users, to respect our rights, under penalty of prosecution. Write us for Catalogue 
and prices. Discounts to dealers only. 

THE PASTEUR-CHAMBERLAND FILTER CO., Dayton, Ohio, U.S.A. 

Sole Licensees for the United States, Canada, and Mexico. 

K. C. Anderson, Manager £astem Department, No. 4 West 28th St., New York City. 


MAWMiliH 

For kienntifvinfr tlic Complexion, 
n emoves all Freckles, Tan, Sunburn, Pimples, Liver 

yDutremoB* 


Moles, and other imperfections. Pot covtiring'\ 
ill'/ all blemishes, and permanently restoring the com- 
plexion to its original freshness. For sale at Druggists, oi’ 
sent postpaid on receipt of oUe. Use I Drnf I Uiihort 
\LyjNAlCHTHYOLSOAPl noiJtnuoBii 

I c« 


MAi 


25 Cents a Cake. 


TOLEDO, O. 


AT • FOLKS • 



tuin g ‘‘Antl-OorpaleBe Pills” loie 15 Ibi. a 
month. Tney cause no c'.ckaess, contain no poison and never 
fail. Sold by Dmeciiits everywhere or sent by mall. Partlcw 
1... (leale^ 4o. WlXXlOX SFKUnc CO., Phlla., fa. 

nPnni i; reduced ny new process, sate, sure 
rCUr Ltandlasting. Nodrugs. Nocure, no 
pay . Advice free. Ferrme5eCo.Bosto;t, Masa 


FAT 



PARKER’S 
HAIR BALSAM 

Cleanses and beautifies the hair. 
Promotes a luxuriant growth. 
Never Falls to Bestore Gray 
Hair to its Youthful Color. 
Cures scalp diseases 5c hair falling. 
gOc, and $1.00 at Druggists 


ALL . , 

should take TRILElfE TABCetS (Reg.). The only 
safe cure for Stoutness. An English Countess writes, 
“ Your tableta act admirably.” Send 75 cents to THE 
TBILENE C0„ 134 Van lluren St., Chicago, 111. 

CONDENSED MILK, 

In Glass Jars. Prepared In 
Maine, especially for Infants 
and Invalids. Send for circu- 
lar. BARKER & HARRIS, 
Qen. Agts., Boston. Mass. 


FAT 

rRILENETA 
itoutnes 
act adm 

>. , 134 ^ 

BABY 
BRAND 


OPIUM 


Morphine Habit Curea in lO 

to SO days. No pay till cured, 
DR. J. STEPHENS, Lebanon, Ohio. 


BAYli'S DEVILLED CHEESE. 

A delicious relish for hot-weather lunches. Ask 
your grocer for a jar. Made by 

GEO, A. BAYLE, St. Louis, Mo. 

For 


LADIES 


M ftkd men's wages writing for ims at home* 
terms ^end self-addressed and stamped envel- 
ope. mss BUTH CHESTER, South Bend* Ind* 


DEAF 


NESS AND HEAD NOISES CURED 
bj Peck’s InTisible Tubulsr £sr CuBhioDi. Wbis> 
pers heard. Suooessfulwben allTeniediesp|^^^ 


ftXL Sold only by F.HiscoX, 853 B’waj.N.T. Write for book of proofs! 


FAT PEOPLE 

To reduce your weight SURELY use Willard’s 
Obesity Pills and lose 15 pounds a month. No 
injury to the health. No interference with busi- 
ness or pleasure. NO STARVING. They build 
up and improve the general health, beautify the 
complexion, and leave NO WRINKLES. Lucy 
Anderson, 84 Auburn St., Cambridge, Mass.,vtyrites: 
“ Three bottles of your Obesity Pills reduced my 
weight from pounds to 190, and I never felt bet- 
ter in all my life. I am much pleased with the 
residt, and shall do all I can to help you.” Our 
patrons include Physicians, Bankers, Lawyers, and 
leaders of Society. Our goods are not sold in drug 
stores ; all orders are supplied direct from our office. 
Price, per package, ^.00, or three packages for S5.00, 
by mail, prepaid. Particulars (sealed), 4 cts. ALL 
CORRESPONDENCE CONFIDENTIAL. 

WILLARD REMEDY CO., BOSTON, MASS. 

U * ^ gX w Ifyondeslrea trans- 

UaMUIBO S parent, O L K A R, 
FRESH oomplexlon, FREE tpom blotch, 
blemieh, roughness, coarseness, redness, 
freckles or pimplesu-e DB.CAMFBBLL’S 
SAFE ABSENIO COMPLEXION 
WAFEB8. These wonderful wafers havo 
the effect of enlarging. Invigorating, or filling 
ont any shrunken, shrivelled or undeveloped 
parts. Price, by mall, $1, 6 Boxes. S5. Depot, 
?l86ih Av“.. N“w York, andall Druggists, 

days on trial, Rdofl’s M^Tc Scale, the popu- 
lar Ladies’ Tailoring Systeip. Illustrated cti^ 
cular free. Rood Mag ic Scale Co. . Chicago, jll. 



30 


1 SKINNY 

Using Adiposidia*’ gain 1 0 Iba. 
par month. Only genuine Fati'^iio 
iDg Preparation ever discovered. 

A barmlett and delicioui Bav«r* 

acre which acts Ilka maglw Par* 
ticulars 4cpnts. 

WOMEN 1 


WILCOX SPECIFIC CO ., Phlla, Pa. 

BARRY3TRIG0PHEBQUS 

FOR THE 

HAIR ANISKIN. 

An elegant dressing. Prevents 
laldness, grav hair, and dandruff, 
lakes thehafr grow thick and soft. 

. Jures eruptions and diseases of the 
’skin. Heats cuts, bumf', bruises and 
sprains. All druggists or by mail 50 cts. 44 Stone S t. . Y. 

Q A B A I MW O I ^ successfully treated by 

r AKIiL w AlA For 

B ■ •■■■ bIB ■ particulars, write to 

THE SANITARIUM. Union Springs, N. Y. 



FREE 


PORTRAITS and FRAMES! 

* Send US at once a photograph of yourself, or any member of your family, living 
or dead, and" wo will make you from it an enlarged Portrait, with fnime complete, 
tbeolotely free of charge. This offer is made In order to introduce our new Portraits and FYames in your vicinity. 
Put vour name and address on back of photos, and send It to NATIONAL PORTRAIT SOCIETY, 
751 DeKalb Ave,, Brooklyn, N. Y. Refer you to any ’'auks in this city. 

29 



WITH THE WITS. 



The fun commences. 



The fun continues. 
30 



'w^hrin6 kpi^hreU 





Fine 

Millinery, 

Dry Goods, 
Dress Goods, 
Silks, 



Table Linens, 
Ribbons, 
Curtains, 
Gloves, 

Laces, 


Sixth avenue, 

20th to 21st St.. new YORK. 




Flowers, 
Feathers, 
Cloaks & Suits, 
Umbrellas, 
Canes, 

^Ji, 

HETRIIiEt{S 




Fancy Goods, 
House 

Furnishings, 
Furniture, 
China, 

Has facilities for handling orders by mail or express 


Our Mail Order Dep’t 


that makes shopping a pleasure, guaranteeing perfect 
satisfaction to the customer, or money refunded. Send for 
samples and prices. When you write, mention “Lippincott’s.*' 


A Valuable Guide Book. 


The Columbian Edition of 

g Philadelphia 

AND ITS ENVIRONS. 


Beautifully illustrated, containing large, new colored map of the city, 
with alphabetical guide and description of principal objects of interest. 


PRICE, 50 CENTS. 


For sale by Booksellers everywhere. Sent by the publishers, postpaid, 
on receipt of price. 

B. lilPPlflCOTT COIWPflflV, 

715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. 
81 






RKIL-ROKDS 

^ p -p r-, pp ^ ^ p-^ P PrP^ggP7J?P‘PPPP? H P- H F i ' ri ci 





DiscoTered l>y 
Colter, 1810. 


Establislied as a 
National Park, 
1872. 


■♦♦- 


T H E 


vOWS 7-0 

A-rea of Tarlt, 3,500 Square Miles. 


Published 
to the world by 
Langford-Doane, 
1871. 


Explored by 
Hayden, 1871-72. 

» 


THE • NORTHERN • PHCIFIC • RHILROHD 

Is the only line that runs direct to this WOXDEBI.ANl>. 

TOUR OF PARK TAKES) Including time from St. Paul to and through (TOUR OF PARK COSTS 
10 1>AYS. / the Park & return, dc all necessary expenses. I 130 llOEEARS. 

I TO LIVINGSTON j 

J (1. 

To Cinnabar— 51 Miles. 


Ctiicago 

tSt. F*bu1 

Portia nd 


1,40© Miles. 
l,OOT Miles. 
048 Miles. 


ELEV.\TIOSS ABOVE SEA. 

MaminotU 

Hot Springs. 

0,387 feet. 

Electric Peak, 

11,155 feet. 

Norris Basin, 

7,537 feet. 

Golden Gate, 

7,300 feet, 

Eower Geyser 

Basin, 7,353 feet. 

Upper Geyser 

Basin, 7,394 feet. 

Yellowstone Take, 
7,788 feet. 

Mt. Washburn, 

10,388 feet. 

Mt. Sheridan, 

10,385 feet. 

Grand Canon 

Hotel, 7,710 feet. 

Grand Canon, 

1,300 feet deep. 



GEYSER ERUPT10.NS. 

Old Faitliful, 

150 feet. 

Giant, 350 feet. 

Grand, 300 feet. 

Bceliive, 300 feet. 

Eion, 60 feet. 

Grotto, 30 feet. 

Turban, 40 feet. 

Giantess, 150 feet. 

Upi)er rails, 

109 feet high. 

Eower Falls, 

308 feet higli. 


ENTRANCE TO PARK. 

GHflND TOUR OF PARK, 148 ^VUIiES 

Cinnabar — Mammoth Hot Springs — 8 NIiles. 

Mammoth Hot Springs — Norris Geyser Basin — 33 Miles. 

Norris Geyser Basin— Eower Geyser Basin — 30 Miles. 

Eower Geyser Basin — Upper Geyser Basin— 10 Miles. 

Upper Geyser Basin— Yellowstone Eake Hotel— 36 Miles. 
Yellowstone Eake — Grand Canon — 1 8 Miles. 

Grand Canon— Mammoth Hot Springs— 34 Miles. 

^ ^ ^ 

MAMMOTH HOT SPRINGS HOTEE— 360 GUESTS, 

FOUNTAIN HOTEL— 350 GUESTS. YEEEOWSTONE LAKE HOTEL— 135 GUESTS. 
GRAND CANON HOTEL— 350 GUESTS. 

•’'G^n -1 "tab Mirg®.1?paui. } ^fo^ 6000 Mllcs TliFOiigli Wonderlaiid. { q,„.i .fg^^sV pa„i. 


32 





CRANKS SUPPLIED 


WITH A RELIABLE 
FOUNTAIN PEN 
GUARANTEED TO 
OVERCOME THEIR 
PREJUDICES. 


ADDRESS 

THE PAUL E. WIRT FOUNTAIN PEN, 
Bloomsburg, Pa, 


Mention Lippincott’s. 



A. W. FABER’S LEAD-PENCILS, 

Pen-holders, Rubber Bands, and Pencil Sharpeners. 

If you cannot obtain these goods from your Stationer, send 30 cents for samples. 

CHICAGO. SOLE AGENT AND MANUFACTURER. NKW YORH. 


ESTABLISHED 1846. 

FRANKLIN 

PRINTIIIG mil WORKS. 

JOHN WOODRUFF’S SONS, 

1S17 and. 121:9 Cherry Street, 

PHILA DELPHI A, PA. 

ThU Magarlne Is printed with JohnWoodruff’s Sons* Inks, 


H igh five or euchre parties 

should.send at once to John Sebastian, G.T.A. 
C..R.I. & P.K.R., Chicago. TEN CENTS, in stamps, 
per pack for the slickest cards you ever shuffled. 
For §1.00 you will receive free, by express, ten packs. 


Velvet Lead (oiass Finish) 
Lead Pencils 

AHERICAN LEAD PENCIL CO., New York. 








PENCILS 


JIAlJIll O AMERICAN 
GRAPHITE 
Arc nneqnaled for smooth, touch points. 

Samples worth, double the money for 16c. 
Jos. Dixon Crucible Co., Jersey City, N. J. 
Mentlor LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE. 


\ 


lUNTERNS AND VIEWS 

For 8ale and Waiiteil. 
MUSIC BOXES, ORGANETTES, 
Photo. Outfits, Steam Engines, 
IbTRliTfiEdHAIIICAL HOVEITIES, ETC. OataloOTehree. 
AKBACU dk C'O.t 808 Filbert bt., Flula.« Pa. 


MAGIC 



Columbian Desk Catalogue i 6 o- 
pages, postege yc. Desks from 
$ 6.00 to $ 6 oo.oo. 

American Desk & Seating Co. 

270-272 Wabash Av., CHICAGO, U.S.A. 





WITH THE WITS. 



H. H. — “ Well, if we didn’t have fun ! Now, Mr. Constable, it’s your move.” 



H. H.— “So long, young fellers. Sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to catch a 
train.” 


34 




7vyisce:l-L7^ne:ous 



Laughter Lends a 



New Charm to Beauty 

when it discloses a pretty set of teeth. White- 
ness, when nature has supplied this element of 
loveliness, may be retained through life by using 
the fragrant 

SOZODONT 

This popular dentifrice is now a recognized es- 
sential of every toilet table. It is totally innoxious. 
CONTAINING NO ACID, and for preserving 
and CLEANSING THE TEETH, and retaining 
the normal condition of the gums, it has no rival. 

More SOZODONT is annually sold than of 
all other dentifrices and tooth- washes combined. 
There must be a reason for this fact. SOZODONT 
has been many years before the world, and if it 
did not fulfil the promises made for it, it would 
long ago have fallen into oblivion. But the more 
it is used, the more it becomes in demand. Those 
who have tried it once, try it again, and then 
recommend its use to others. 


Sold by all Druggists 


and Fancy Goods Dealers. 


SNOW-FLAKE-SALT 


NEVER GETS LUMPY OR DAMP. 


A PERFECT TABLE LUXURY. 

SNOW-FLAKE SALT CO., 63 FULTON ST., N.Y. 



To see is 



to believe .HAIR 



restores the yotithful color, vitality, 
and growth to gray hair. Stops 
the hair from falling, and makes 
hair grow on bald heads. Cures 
dandruff and all scalp disorders. 
A fine hair dressing. The best 
recommended hair renewer ever 
made. Endorsed by our best 
physicians and chemists. 

Buckingham’s Dye Whiskers 

gives to the beard a uniform and 
natural color. Easy of application. 
The gentlemen’s favorite. 

R. F. HALL & CO., Prop’?, 

ffASHUAf n. H. 


Sold by all Druarglats. 


“ACTINA,” 


The dreat 



ONLY CATARR 


H 


Bestorerl 

CURE. 


THIS WONDERFUTi ELECTRO* 
CHER ICO INVENTION i. a now departure I“ 
the Ooulift’i art, and must eoun become a bousehol*^ 
neoessity. Then will sitectacles becomn un- 
known and consenital disen.e and malforma- 
tion of the eye be a thing of the patt. 

Whf will yon be bled ol your money by ex- 
perimentalizing Ooulisti and eo-called Speoializts when 
they never have, and what ia more, never can cure dia- 
eaae of the Eye, Ear, or Head 1 Yon not only loae your 
money, but often timea are left in a worae condition than 
wlien yen began treatment. Bnrh diseaaea of the Eye 
aa Cataract.. Granulated J.lds, J'lerys- 
lums, Amaiiro.i.f Astlsmatiam, Glauco- 
ma, Iritis, Ophthalmia, and weakened vis- 
ion from any oauae readily yields to “Artinn,’’ 
aa thouaanda teatify. In fact there is no disease 
of the eye but what may, under proper atimulation 
and electrical excitation, be permanently cured. Thia 
can be done by **Actina” >a anrely the ann ahinea 
and fire bnrna. Catarrh. Deafness, Hay Fe- 
ver, Neuralcin, Sore Throat Colds, and 
Bronchial and Lnnc Troubles cannot ex* 
ist under the infiuence of “ Actlnn.’’ Action’’ 
leaPerfect Electric Pocket Battery, ""hUe 
by young aa well aa old, and at all timea and in all 
plaoea; you loae no time from bnaineaa, yon treat your- 
aelf, and the one inatiumenl can bo need by the entire 
family. Beware of fraudulent imitationa. bee that the 
name“W. C. Wilaon, Inventor. Patent No. 341,712" la 
atamped on each inatrnment. None genuine without. 

A V A LU A B liE BOOK FF E K on application. 
Containa Treatlae on the Human Syatrm, ita diaeaaea 
and oure, and thouaanda of referencea and teetimoniala. 

Mention Lippincott’s. 

ig^Agenta wanted. Write for Terma. 

NEW YORK AND LONDON ELECTRIC ASSN.a 
1021 Main St., Kansas City, Mo. 

608 Olive St., St. Louis, Mo. 


85 



I THE NEW I 

I Chambers’s Encyclopaedia | 


i. 



I A^ 


S a work of ready reference for the student, as a handy book of 
facts and statistics in a business ofl&ce or school-room, as a guide 
in the home library, 

CHAHBERS’S ENCYCLOPAEDIA 

SURPASSES ALL OTHERS. 

It is twenty years later than any of its competitors, and is really a new 
work. All the articles have been entirely re-written or revised, and 
thousands of new ones incorporated. The type is clear and of a beau- 
tiful cut ; the numerous illustrations are remarkably fine ; and the 
maps show not only all the countries of the globe, but also all the 
States and Territories of the United States. 

IN TEN VOLUriES. 

A VALUABLE AND EXTREHELY CHEAP SET OF BOOKS. 

Price, per set, in cloth binding, $ 30.00 ; sheep, $40.00 ; half 
morocco, $45.00. 

“A model Encyclopaedia, which no intelligent person will make a mistake in 
purchasing. ” — Chicago Inter- Ocean. 

“Chambers’s Encyclopaedia is now the best and most authoritative book of 
reference on all varieties of subjects that exists in the English language. All the 
big and costlier ones are out of date.” — Phila. Eve. Bulletin. 

“A library of literature, the scope of which is as broad as knowledge.” — 
Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“One may say at once, without reservation, that none of the low-priced 
Encyclopaedias can compare with Chambers’s either in scholarship, range of sub- 
ject, readableness, or effective condensation. In mechanical details, too, it is 
admirable.” — Boston Beacon. 

“Those who wish an Encyclopaedia of the general character of Chambers’s 
may take our word for it they can find nothing better. It is admirable in every 
respect.” — N. Y. Examiner. 

Twenty-four page illustrated circular sent to any address on 
application. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by the Publishers, free of expense, on receipt ! 
of price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 

• . . 36 ■ . 



NEW EQUIPMENT 

Built expressly for this Service, 
and consisting of 

PULLMAN COMPARTMENT 
SLEEPING-CAR, 

RECLINING -CHAIR CARS, 
and 

COMPARTMENT COACH AND 
SMOKER. 

A VESTIBULE TRAIN 

LIGHTED BY GAS THROUGHOUT UNSURPASSED 
IN ELEGANCE AND EQUIPMENT. 

Leaves Chicago Daily at 
9,00 P.M. 

and runs to St. Louis, 
via 

Gilman, Gibson, Farmer City, 

Clinton, Decatur, Pana, 
and Vandalia, 111., 
without change or waits of any 
kind. 

0 

Tickets and further information can be obtained of 
Ticket Agents of the Illinois Central Railroad 
and Connecting Lines. 

J. T. HARAHAN, T. J. HUDSON, M. C. MARKHAM, A. H. HANSON, 

Second Vice-Prtsident. Tra^c Manager. Ass' t Traffic Manager. Gen’ I Passenger Agent. 

Chictcoo, I1-1-. 




87 


WITH THE WITS. 



Reason in his Route. 

Employer.— “ What kept you so long?’' 

Boy.— “ Had to wait till a regiment of soldiers passed, sir.” 
Employer. — ” Couldn’t you have gone up the next street?” 
Boy.—” Yes, sir ; but the soldiers didn’t go that way.” 

38 



SaHajHSSSHHSHESaHHSHSaSHSEaEEEEaHHHSHasasSESSHH 

TV^ISCELLHNEOUS 



Alaska 
Stove Lifter 



Always Cold. 

Will not get hot 

Heavily Nickel Plated. 

m the lid. stove, Hardware, 

and House Furnishers, or sent 
by mail, postpaid, for 30 cents. 
—Also the— 

ALASKA POKER. 

TROY NICKEL WORKS, Troy, N.Y. 

A LUXURIOUS BED. 



Tho Celebrated Hygienic AIll ^lATTR RSS is tlieonly 
mattress made that is always pure, clean, healthy, and com- 
fortable. It has no equal for general use and is indispensable in 
cases ofprolonged illness. W rite for catalogue and testimonials. 
METEOPOLITAN AIR GOODS CO., 7 Temple Place, Boston. 

The Name to Remember 

when buying a 

ICYCLE 

— IS — 

A. W. GUMP & CO., 

DAYTON, OHIO. 

$30.00 to $50.00 saved on many new and 
second-hand Bicycles. Lists free. Over 
a, 000 In stock. Cash or time. 
AGENTS WANTED. 

Mninni CC Ladies and glrU, ir yon 

lalllr I LCwiwant air or ezeroise, buy 
a FAIRY 

„?“?1TRICYCLE 

power. CHEAP FOR ALL. | 

FAY MFC. CO., Elvrla, 0. 




WE WANT AT ONCE 

RELIABLE MEN everywhere (local or travelling) to adver- 
tise and keep our Show Cards tacked up in towns, on 
trees and fences along public reads. Steady w ork in your 
own county. $70 A MONTH SALARY AND $3 A 
BAY EXPENSES deposited in your BANK when started. 

ERANCO'GERMAN ELECTRIC CO., CINCINNATI, 0. 


$1,000 in 20 Frizes of $50 each. 

The Phenylin Pharmocal Company, Manufacturing Chetn* 
istfl, 157 aud 159 William St. New York, raanutacturers oftbo 
PHENYLIN ANTISEPl’lCSTANDAto PREPARATIONS, 
olfer 20 prizes of $50 each tor the best 20 compositions, 
pro$e or verse, of 20 lines each, suitable for advertising each 
of i ts 20 preporatious. Send t wo-cent stamp Tor circular con* 
taming I Dstructions and conditions. Address “Advertising 
Department,** Phenylin Pbormncal Company, Boat 1021 
General Post Cilice, New York city. 


$20 


A ll! P P y Ladles roeelro whs write for ns nt h 
If LL A Reply with addressed stamped envelopo 
Woman’s Co-Operative Toilet €o«» Sout^ Bend, lad* 


“THE HUNDREDTH 





is the title of one of 
Stockton’s cleverest stories. 

Ninety-nine people out of 
a hunclrecd have hearci of 
Hartshorn’s shade-rollers, 
and know that they are the 
best. It’s “the hundredth 
man ” we’re looking for. 

The genuine “ Hartshorn 
Self-Acting Roller ” bears 


autograph 
siofnature of 
S t e w a r t 
Hartshorn 
on label. 


^MSHOfiN'Ss^-aSS^ 


6t>«M ol toittitot*. 

NOTICK 
AUTOCRAPH 
OP 



ABEL 
THE CENinNK 


^HART^OBly 




WALLPAPER 


Do you Intend to do ... . 

. . . . any Papering soon ? 

If SO, send 10c. in stamps to pay post- 
age on samples of Wall Paper to 
WILLIAM W ALLACE, 

1025 Pine St., Phlladeliilila, Pa. 

Latest Designs in Wall Papers. I.ow- 
est Prices. Good Gold I’a per from Sc. 
per piece and upwards. Handsome Parlor Papers, 
10c. to 20c. We send our “ Hints on Papering” with 
snmpl es. 





THE 

HOUSEHOLD 
REMEDY FOR PAIN. 

Mild, effective, contains no opium. 
Cures Neuralgia, Sciatica, La Grippe. 
Rheumatism, and all bodily pains. 
Warranted to Cure any Headache 
In lo minutes. Samj)le and book sent 
free. Box containing 75 doses^ 
Price 50 cts. — at druggists or by mail. 
PAINSFOE CHEMICAL CO.. 87 College PL, N.Y. 


WATER CLOSETS 


Avoid shallow seal closets, also those that 
have concealed traps; both are treacherous. 
The “ Nautilus” is conceded by all to be the 
best. Catalogue free. 

W. S. Cooper Brass Works, Pbilaieipkia. 


39 



WITH THE WITS. 



A Good Reason. 


Mistress. — "Bridget, you never open these drawers, do you?” 
Bridget. — " No, indade, raum. I couldn’t foind the key,” 

40 




7v\:iscel.l-kne:ous 

r r r J-I r I- 1- drJ jr I- r- r- r-:p r^? r^ rJ P ^p7ap^7i-sr;jpp p,^p.,^ njp 



.»^pianos “4 


Renowned for Tone and Durability. 

Sold at Moderate Prices. 
Rented and Rzchanged. 




TRIAL 


FREE 


BEST I4K COLD FILLED 

ELGIN OR WALTHAM 

WATCH <D I O 71 ; 

MADE.FOR9 I Zi I U 

Tbit Ua geiiuio« Pueber 14k gold filled 
case, ge&tt' or ladiea* eUe, huntiDg or open- 
&c«, otem wind and etem aet, b^utifull; 
engrarod bj Dand^ fitted with a genulna 
Elgin, Hampden or Waltham moremeot, 
full jeweled, expansion balance, quick 
train, adjueted. warranted an accurata 
timekeeper. A written guarantee war- 
ranting the case to wear 20 jears and 
the movement a lifetime, goes with 
eachvatch. This Is a far better watch 
than was ever advertised before, they 
have only been sold in the best retail 
stores and never for less than |25. 
SEND THIS ADVT. to us and we will 
send the watch to you by express C. 0. 
D. sub^t to examination, and if satis- 
foctory, pay our special sale price, 
$12.76 and express charges, and it Is 
yours, otherwise dont pay a cent. 

SEARS, ROEBUCK & CO., 
BLNIiEAPOLia BIND. 

8.— Diamond, Watch or Chain Catalogs# 
will be mailed free upon application. 


The FISCHER PIANOS are used 
by the best artists, and will be found 
in homes of refinement, taste, and 
musical culture. 


WAREROOMS : 

no FIFTH AVE., 

COR. 16TH STREET, N. Y. CITY. 



HEMI-half. C R A N I A-skull, 
HEMI-CRANIA, half a head- 
ache ; that heretofore incurable 
pain on one side of the head, 
known as Me-grim. ME-GRIM- 
INE, a cure for Me-grim and all 
forms of Headache, Neui’al- 
gia, or other Painful Attacks. 

CURES PERMANENTLY. 


Bold by Drnggisti. Sample free. 


DR. WHITEHALL, 

South Bend, Ind. 


ME-CRIM-INE. 



H. H. Babcock Company, 

WATERTOWN, N. Y. 

New York City Salesrooms: 406-412 Broome St, 


Carriages and 
— Fanry Traps. 

Send for Catalogue of many new designs. 



Indeasl of 5wo. 



Sales Office and Warehouse : 

39 and 41 Woodland Ave., Cleveland, O. 


When the American people are tired of 
Kornlet, we’ll take it to Egypt, — India, 
It’s a good thing, if properly cooked. 
The wrapper explains, but does not sup- 
ply “gumption.” If you don’t like it, 
it’s the fault of the cook — not ours. 

THE HASEROT CANNERIES CO., 

Successor to The Forestville Canning Co. 

Factories : Forestville, N. Y. ; Gowanda, N. Y. ; Clyde, O. 

41 




WANAMAKER’S. 

Vacation time. A book and a shady nook. 

Maybe you’re away from bookstores. How 
to get the book you want — or any book — is 
the question. 

Easy as rolling out of your hammock. 

We’ve made a little primer — not so little, 
either — 48 closely printed pages of titles of 
hundreds of good old books and hundreds of 
the newest of the new books. All well printed 
books, too — and the price so low you can afford 
to leave the book behind you when finished. 

A postal card request for ‘‘ Books for Sum- 
mer Reading” will get you this primer. 

JOHN WANAMAKER, 
Philadelphia. 

42 



Insurance at ^ Usual Rates. 

Why pay ^lOO per year for your Life Insurance 
when the Same Amount of Insurance can be had 
in one of the strongest Life Insurance Companies 
in the world for 50 ? 

Mutual Reserve Fund 
Life Association. 

RECORD AND FINANCIAL STANDING. 


Membership, over 70,000 

Interest Income, annually, exceeds |i27,ooo.oo 

Bi-Monthly Income exceeds 600,000.00 

Reserve Fund, May isth, 1893 3,449,326.13 

Death Claims paid, over 15,695,000.00 

Saving in Premiums exceeds 30,000,000.00 

New Business in 1892 exceeded 60,000.000.00 

Insurance in Force exceeds 250,000,000.00 


RELIABLE AGENTS WANTED IN EVERY STATE. 

Parties desiring Insurance will be furnished free in- 
formation at the Home Office, or by any of the 
Association' s General Agents. 

Home Office, 

Potter Building, 38 Park Row, New York. 
E. B. HARPER, President. 


THE ART OF 
GOOD LIVING. 

How necessary is it that our modem 
hotels should be exponents of the true art 
of living ! The St. Denis is a practical 
exemplification of this great principle, 
for here one can find not only the choicest 
viands the market affords, but also pre- 
pared and served in the most tempting 
and delicious manner. 

Its enlargement during the past two 
years by a commodious and handsome 
addition, in which no pains and expense 
were spared, is evidence of the growing 
popularity of this well-known house. In 
its appointments, decorations, and modern 
equipments it is par excellence one of the 
leading hotels of the metropolis, while 
the service and attendance are most ad- 
mirable in every detail and particular. 

THE ST. DENIS HOTEL, 

Broadway and Eleventh St., 
NEW YORK. 

(Opposite Grace Church.) 


Whether quaffed 
from a vessel of 
tin, glass or gold; 

There’s nothing so 
good for the young 

or the old — as 




HIRES’ 

Root Beer. 


A delicious health- 
giving, thirst-satis- 
fying beverage. A 
temperance drink for 
temperance people. 



Sold and Enjoyed Everywhere. 

A 25 cent Mckage makes 5 gallons of this deli- 
cious drink. Don’t be deceived if a dealer, for the 
sake of larger profit, tells you some other kind is 
"just as good" — 'tis false. No imitation is as 
good as the genuine Hires’. 





HYGIENIOALLY 


^ / EVERY MAN 


^ /COMMITS A CRIME 

'^^GUYOT SUSPENDERS. 



BEWARE or 
IMITA TIONS. 


THE NAHE OF 

[B, CliyOT 

ON EVERY 
PAIR. 

ALL OTHERS ARE 

IMITATIONS. 

For sale by every Men’s Furnishing, Dry Goods, 
and Clothing Store In the United States and Canada. 

If you are unable to procure from your dealer, 
send 50 cents in stamps for a sample pair to 

AQTIII?TMI?n PDAQ Sole Representatives for 
UullltillllhA DilUiJ., U. S. and Canada. 
New York ; Philadelphia: 

406 Broadway. 917-919 Filbert Street. 


OC ©i 

Li *0 

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JOSEPH GIEEOTT’S STEEL PElffS. 


JlbsolaMy 
Pure 


Baking ^ 
Powder 


A cream of tartar baking powder. 
Highest of all in leavening strength. 
— Latest United States Government 
Food Report. 


Royal Baking Powder Co., 

io6 Wall St., N. Y. 


m 

tEATEST 

"iboiukqJi “ ' ■ “ 


OK THSAGB 
EN/ERY FAMILY 
SHOULD HAVE IT 


EREO a/D fs Ser (Sjl® 

STEPHEKKWhlT/WK J^SOff 

M^Ef^TORS A.]iD SOLE f^A^^U F^’S 

£2 PHILADELPHlA.Pft. e 



PIANOS 



ETJGEN D’ ALBERT: From fullest conviction I 
declare them to be the best Imtmments of America. 

DR. HANS VON BiiLOW; I declare them (he 
absolutely best in America. 

ALFRED GRuNFELD: I consider them the best 
Instruments of our times. 

P. TSCHAIKOVSKY : Combines with fjreat Vol- 
ume of Tone a rare sympathetic and noble Tone 
Color and perfect action. 


Baltimore: 'i'Z and tt4 E. Baltimore St. 

New York: 148 Fifth Ave. 

WaaliiiiKtoii : 817 Fennsylvania Ave. 
(:hicaco: l.yon &: llenly. State & Moiiroo Sta. 



Don’t fail to see the Lnndborg Exhibit 
at the World’s Fair. 


LUNDBORG’S PERFUMES, 


are the leading Ferfomea of AMEBIGA and sold 
throughout THE WOBLD. 


SOLD MEDAL, FABIS, 1878. 



V.BAmll Co.'S 


Breakfast 


Cocoa 


from which the excess of 
oil has been removed, 


Is Absolutely Pure 
and it is Soluble, 


No Chemicals 


are used in its prep- 
aration. It has 
than three times the 
strength of Cocoa 
mixed with Starch, 
Arrowroot or Sugar, 
and is therefore far 
more economical, costing less than one cent a 
cup. It is delicious, nourishing, strength- 
ening, EASILY DIGESTED, and admirably 
adapted for invalids as well as for persons 
in health. 


SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE. 


W, BAKER & CO., DORCHESTER, MASS. 


0)C 

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THE MOST PERFECT OF PENS. 


Voy Ejctra Fine Wfitinn, A"o. 303. For Fine 
ana Oenerat Writina, Kos. 404 «»««l 004. For 
Artiafa’ l!ae, Xoa. OSO {Crate Quill) anS SOM. 

JOSBPH GII^LOXT & SONS. 


Henry Hoe, sole aqent. 









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